Outpour

I walk down the street.

It’s a quiet day today.

The air is cold.

I can see my own breath.

It’s not too cold though, more refreshing — crisp.

I rub my hands briefly and keep going.

Today, there is nothing important that I have to do.

The only thing on my agenda is to wander the streets and see where the crisp air takes me.

A man lights a cigarette,

a woman on a bicycle crosses the street,

I can hear children playing nearby.

I take a left, and then a right,
and then another left and then another.

I pass bakeries and bookstores and cafes.

People sitting on benches, taking a break.

Peaceful little patches of green.

Till suddenly, something catches my eye.

I come in closer.

It’s a little pool.

Not the swimming type,

more like a fountain, but without any water spraying.

It’s beautifully crafted,
yet somehow, unassuming.

I wonder about the story behind it.
I always wonder about the stories behind things.

“Always read the plaque” — my childhood hero (my grandpa) used to say.

I let my eyes search for it and then see one on the other side.

As I walk over, getting one step closer to the story of this place, I realise there is something at the bottom of the pool.

I squint so that I could see better.

It looks like an army of chariots,
and at the front, a single man.

Now I really have to read this plaque.

I finally get to it —

“This monument marks 200 years to the attempted conquer of our lands.

The army at the bottom of the pool, mighty as it may be,

was drowned by the outpour of courage and support,

that they did not see coming”.

I see that the sides of the pool have marks on them, seemingly representing different things that happened, different moments of courage and support throughout those times.

People who stood their ground,
support that came from abroad.

Man, this pool,
What a marvel.

I keep strolling down the road,
looking at the trees.

Kyiv is beautiful this time of year.