At Montjuic Magic Fountains, Barcelona

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Firstly, they cascade clear, cool, water

down carved stone stairways while

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splashing spouts soar through falling

fountains, mist becomes mesmerising.

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Then, they shine bright lights through

endless drops of water rising, falling,

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colours chasing each other, dazzling

the eye, spectrum becomes surreal.

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Finally, they add music, pouring perfect

notes through water, through light,

liquid notes creating a crescendo

of

colourful

cataracts.

 

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Duncannon, a stranger called

Duncannon, a stranger called.

We were happily pottering in our little

seaside garden. It was a fine Spring day.

Plants were placed, watering almost done,

proof against the drought,

when quite suddenly he was there.

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He was not expected.  My wife was

the one who noticed him.  She asked,

“what do you make of that?”

At first I did not know what it was

she meant, but looking up from

my work I too saw him close at hand.

He was silent, it seemed he spoke

in ways we could not comprehend.

We were quiet then, as he was.

The only sounds heard were the hushed

murmurs of the little waves gently falling

on Duncannon’s nearby strand.

“We should offer him food,”she said,

then added, “and something

to drink, perhaps he’s thirsty.”

Food and water we placed before him

Keeping a wary eye on us he drank

with evident relish.  Still silence held,

no-one saying anything.  We

watched him as he watched us.

He wore some form of I.D. bracelet, but the

writing was too small, to us almost invisible.

When the water was gone the pigeon

flew away, our little visitor who seemed

to know that we would offer water to

a stranger, even in a drought.