Ross Fountain

Gushing water once spilled over the fountain

Like champagne in a slàinte mhath on Christmas Day or

Hogmanay; sloshed around intoxicated hands and

Spilling on floors like the water pool festering below

That gulls used to bathe in.

It is now frozen over. Time has grabbed it with its

Ugly, calloused hands and left it an Arctic kind of blue:

A shade lighter, stripped brighter than ever before.

No water runs free, it is confined to the fountain,

Stunted. Pure frost. It will never be the same again.

Nobody sees the hurt in the fountain, everyone is

Raving of its beauty. They are finding the good in this

Suffocation.

I cannot even leave the house to see it. It is simply too cold

And I am not as tough as I thought I was

A year or two ago. I chose winter over summer in my childhood.

I enjoy wrapping up. Scottishness means you are used to

The cold. In my mind, I could hack it

And now I am just content enough to

View it online; a screen in between us.

Beautiful fountain, small and cold, under the

Great gaze of the castle.

It is below freezing: mermaids are tasting snow for the first time.