no fountain. there has not been a fountain here for two decades. but the pigeons rise and fall around the spot where the fountain was, keeping the shape of the water in the air.
they are eating something a child has dropped, or pretending to. the column of them collapses and rises and collapses and rises, as if the birds had inherited the duty of being a vent for the absent stone. someone passing pauses to take a photograph and the photograph contains, accidentally, the missing fountain.
field note: the city remembers its furniture with the bodies of its birds.
empty square · kiosk · memory · bus shelter