The old man places his finger under the tap and feels the irregular pulse of the water. He closes the valve and walks around the back of his small wooden house. Then, following a cobbled path, he begins to ascend the rocky hill that sits behind his home. The climb presses the sleep from his muscles and the breeze, not yet warmed by the rising sun, freshens his waking face. Running alongside the path, between patches of wildflowers that shoot up through the mottled boulders, is a line of bamboo pipes cut in half and layered upon one another. The water that runs down their canals burbles in the passing ear of the old man.
Near the summit, the old man finds what he is looking for. One of the bamboo pipes has become unaligned with the one below it and the seamless flow of the water is disturbed by the upset. Gently, he eases the pipe and its supports back into the proper place. Balance is restored and the water flows smoothly once more.
The old man takes a seat on the cobbled path and brings out his pipe. The sun is clearing away the last of the dawn mist and the songbirds are ending their chorus. There is the promise of a good day ahead.
Paddy Dobson
29th August 2020