fountains from above
glorious arcs of water.
Each balcony in a vertical stack has a pipe protruding from the center, draining the contents of the balcony to the ground.
It’s a distinct sound every time a stream hits the ground.
It brings me out on my balcony, looking around for whoever it is coming from.
I try to guess, by the sound, which floor it is coming from.
The solid streams – a dumped bucket, washing
The slow drips – watering flowers.
The slow, loud, drips on plastic in the middle of the night – balcony-on-fourth-floor leaks in the rain, gathers the water and slowly drips big fat drops from the drain on to balcony-on-second-floor’s homemade plastic awning, jutting out further than the pipes above reach!
I always imagine synchronizing these to music.
Convincing all my neighbors to get buckets of water, playing a symphony over the speakers that I’ve ever heard blare with the nuclear bomb test sirens, and having each of them dump to the music…