Night of St. John

Flames licking up from history, and the dark and the light come round again

On the corner of the square, facing the water pump that sits beneath the plane trees, there’s a small shop, shuttered up for most of the year. A man walks to the pump; he’s holding his dog by the collar, and the dog knows what’s coming, straining towards it. The tension is released as the man holds his hand to the pump handle; a cascade of water falls o…

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