The Fountain

Close to the main square in the little Swiss town where I live there's a small drinking fountain. I walk by it on the way to the train every day; I walk by it on the way back home. It stands there in a corner like an afterthought​, a small stream of water always flowing through it.
Maria says I'm like a dog, says I can't go by a water fountain and not drink, says I'm always thirsty. I guess I like the refreshing feeling on a hot summer day. I do it mostly just to clear my mouth, clear my mind. I think I'm more like a fish.
Maria told me that she once explained to someone that they don't have seasons in Colombia: the weather is always the same, the sun always sets shortly after six. “How boring,” said this person, who had grown up in New England, enjoying the drastic changes, looking forward to Summer in Winter and vice versa.
Maria was upset. She said not having seasons was perfectly fine, nothing boring about it. You can do whatever you want, whenever you want. Besides, you get tropical fruits all year round, and why wouldn't you like that?
Come winter, they shut off the water in the fountain in the little town where I live: for four, five, months the faucet stays dead, like the leafless trees around it.
Well, this morning, trotting over cobblestones, rushing to my train, I saw it spouting water again! Another year has passed.