“They want to pave the path to the new well,” Ana said. “And fill this one in. It’s a safety hazard, they say.”
Ana knew she would find him at the well.
“The laws of the office change with every election,” he interrupted gently. “But the law of the well is older. It says: Here, someone once bent down to drink. Here, a mother washed her child’s face. Here, two lovers dropped a coin and made a wish. You cannot fill that in with gravel and cement.” Dumitru Matcovschi Poezii
“Dorul nu e o boală, Dorul e o rădăcină… Cu cât tai din creangă, Cu cât crește inima…”
Ana listened. She heard the soft plink of a distant drip, the rustle of a poplar leaf, and the faint, endless hum of the summer heat. “The well?” she said. “They want to pave the path to the new well,” Ana said
Nicolae did not look up. He turned a page, though his eyes were closed.
He handed her the book, opened to a different poem. She read the lines aloud: “The laws of the office change with every
“Bunicule,” she said softly, sitting beside him. “The delegation from Chișinău is here. They want to talk about the land registry. About the EU grant.”