Newly born into the world, your water has been sampled, your pressure has been checked.
Cylindrical. Freshly painted yellow by the Pipe Cowboy. Metal. Water. Erect.
The signifier of the new water loop. The central point.
Guarding a bevy of posts and poles that diagnose and monitor, report and alert, you alone allow access to the main. You stand firm, basking in your importance.
You point skyward to the clouds that drip their essence onto soil and pavement and roofs, to be gathered in gutters and gullies, delivered to swales and ponds and aquifers, whereupon their waters will return to you, where you point skyward.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
(And then they secretly wrapped you. For safekeeping.)
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