September 18, 2014

water mound

One morning Fenwick, the baker’s apprentice, stepped outside to fetch water from the well. He was shocked out of the one wit he had when he found himself staring at a huge mound of water sitting in the meadow and lightly rippling in the breeze. He turned and ran.

‘Mound of water!’ he shouted, racing to the village square.

Citizens of all stripe and demeanor responded and were led to the phenomenal sight by the baker’s apprentice. Opinions in all flavors were expressed.

‘I don’t believe in it,’ said Mencken, the carpenter

‘Had a better one when I was a lad in the swamp,’ said the idle fool.

‘It’s beautiful,’ said the innkeeper’s daughter.

How can I turn this to my advantage? thought the mayor and many others.

Edwina, the miller’s toddler of a daughter, went straight to the mound, stuck her head in, and had a nice drink. When, after careful observation by the townspeople, the girl continued to skip about laughing and not die, what joy and celebration ensued. For years thereafter, the crystal clear mound of water supplied the needs of the village. People came from near and far to stare at it or make fun of it. Some studies were undertaken, but not many.

And one morning, long after Fenwick, the baker’s apprentice, had become Fenwick, the baker, he stepped outside to fetch water from the mound and sank to his knees in disbelief. The mound of water was gone. The people were depressed for weeks, but they got over it. After all, they had plenty of wells and a river and a nearby lake.

As for the mound of water itself, it had business to attend to on another planet.

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