Well, well!

I was chatting with the Monsignor about the clootie tree when, à propos of nothing I could determine, he switched the subject.

Pointing through the rain at this puddle next to the curb, he said, "Rain or shine, winter or summer, there's always water there."

"A leak?" I asked.

"We've checked for leaks. We've called the city. Nobody can figure out where this water is coming from."

"A holy well!" I exclaimed, suddenly filled with visions of how we could get the city to donate the parking space so we could put in, let's see, a lintel, some flowers, a cup for visitors, a cross scratched in the sidewalk, and of course a plastic BVM. Does anyone know where we might acquire a live eel?

I just knew that clootie tree was there for a reason.

Extra: Can you spot the new clooties? Hint: purple.

THE HOLY WELL

Ring the bell!
We've found a well.
Will it be swell?
Time will tell.

-------------------------
ADDENDUM, 17 April 2018

It turns out that a year ago April, during NaPoWriMo2017, I was looking in vain for a holy well. How sweet that one has appeared at the cathedral. Here's what I wrote last year.

HOLY WELL, PORTLAND STYLE

No sheep, no cows, no farmer's dog,
No prickly growth, no squishy bog,
No clooties hanging from a tree,
No BVM, no rosary.

The water isn't fresh and pure —
recycled! — and with no known cure.
No holy saint doth here preside,
No rounds are made, no prayers are cried.

The streetcar clicks along the track,
The tall glass tower has its back.
The park applauds ecology,
But God nor spirit can we see.

The park is not a holy sign.
Its emphasis is on design.
There is no cup, there is no bell,
For this is not a holy well.


It's time I went back and followed the advice I was given. It's never a good idea to spurn a holy well!