Thursday, 20 February 2014

Fountain 31 Place Malherbe, St. Maximin-la-Baume 10 August


Place Malherbe
 18th-century fountain topped with an obelisque

Although St. Maximin-la-Baume quite place, this roundabout was the hub around which local lads sported their whining two-stoke scooters or their parents' car. 
Behind me were a few shady terrace cafes, but I prefer a bench under a tree. 
Here I can relax and watch the world without the interruption of a waiter. 
A bench is a democratic place. 
I shared my lunch break with three Arab men eating ice cream, 
an older woman with hennaed hair and a panting pekinese 
whose lolling tongue was reminiscent of a proboscis. 

Earlier, at the cathedral, I asked a reluctant priest to bless the water I had collected. 
I had filled a vial with the rather scuzzy water from the holy water font by the west door.
Sometimes I feel a bit squeamish dipping my fingers into this unknown solution to bless myself. 
I try not to think of all the fingers which have preceded me over the centuries.
 And sometimes I do consider them and I feel a humble connection 
with the dirt and sweat and germs of all humanity.

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