There. Water, so beautiful, so perfect.

Remember when we were young.

Smiling in the sun.

Staring at the fountain.

It was so wonderful. Oh it was so wonderful. The noise and sounds it made. The whoosh as water spurted out the top. Atomised water droplets failing splashing into the pool at the base. The trickling sounds, like laughter, as the water flowed over stone.

Remember when we were young.

We were hot. The sun was remorseless. You said “Go on”. I took off my sandals and dipped my toes in the cool pool. Splashing and splashing watching ripples.

I giggled. You smiled I think. You smiled and joined me.  Those fleeting, floating moments sitting at the edge. Listening to the water fall and flow and rise and dip and drop. We were still.

I close my eyes. Now. I close them and can  still hear it. The ripples our feet made. There were birds. Yes. There were birds singing. Others were there. The familiar chattering and howls of families and children running and walking. In my heart’s memory we were there alone in silence but for fountain. It was an orchestra of fluids, of motion, playing an overture just for us.

Then it passed. Like sand grains in flowing tides we were swept away from our perfect moment. We went home. Our lives went on. The water’s song we heard in the fountain played on in our absence.

I go back there sometimes. Without you of course. It is not the same. Trickling, tinkling, splashing, sploshing. I hear them. The song is not them same. It is not for us..