January 03, 2021
A Treasured Place
Storytelling incidents hang around edges of the mind like melting icicles off the edge of a roof. Drip-dropping thoughts liquid with prose fall as gravity allows. Temperature is always a factor with cold air warm enough as it transforms ice into miracles of water.
Mundane thoughts and ideas whip around the mind like clouds expecting to be dust devils or major whirlpools engaging the only acreage available. The freshly groomed minds of readers bold enough to venture out of their comfort zones tempt the wind. Take a breath and hold the air captive as your lungs allow.
The exchange from inhale to exhale is like a currency. Breaths of equal value calm the body with their soft rhythm. Muscles relax, bones feel their weight, and air becomes a monetary symbol of life ever on.
One cannot exist without the other. A persistent barter, Oxygen in, CO2 out like a bellows in a blacksmith caldron. The clicks of keyboard keys is no match for the constant ringing clang of a blacksmith's hammer shaping the hot red/yellow metal.
Seven days later this thread continues. Occasionally words stop coming into consciousness. Much like the blacksmith's forge fire burns out, so to words cease their hot flow from mind to electronic paper.
This passage is like a rest stop. Everything concerning the written word opens the door and silence embraces the mind like a bubble of protection. Whatever catalyst enables more words renders the silence moot and inconsequential.
Scenes of driving roads I've known for years continue their presence in my thoughts. The motto of 'Forward!' flares its banner across Observatory Dr. and meets my thoughts like an old man declaring who knows at this stage of life no other action is better. Sometimes I close my eyes and drive the roads.
They have been driven so often it is easy. I know where the bumps are, the smooth tight corners pull me into the curve and the pressured pedal increases my speed as the hum of the engine becomes the only sound worth hearing. My eyes scan the road like a beam of radar looking for elk, deer, or the occasional coyote.
The peace of the drive is a prayer. These are sacred moments. I'm only a visitor now.
I laugh. Pete Aleshire comes to mind. He always wondered how I shot some of the road scenes he could never capture.
When I left the Payson Roundup I finally told him my secret. I shot them while driving. Because the passage on these highways was so frequent I knew where all the good shots were. There was no need to stop. The point of view would never be the same as from the driver's seat.
I never saw a more blank face than his at that moment. He could not believe it. Unable to process how I could do such a thing, he had no response.
Highway 60 and Highway 260 in Arizona will always hold a treasured place in my heart/mind. Hwy 60 mostly because of the Salt River Canyon, though not completely. There are other scenically satisfying vistas found nowhere else.
Hwy 260 has the Mogollon Rim challenge, both up it and down it. My challenge of the Rim drive was coasting downhill as fast as my vehicle would allow. My goal was always to reach 90 mph. Never happened.
When I came to the top of the rim going toward Payson, which is South and West. I took my foot off the gas pedal and just let the car go downhill. If there were no other vehicles on the road I did not use my brakes, having learned on the Canyon drive how to accomplish that.
The highest speed ever attained was 80 mph. I never pushed the gas pedal to go faster on these challenges. If no cars: No brakes, no gas pedal. So much for goals.
It feels like more words are needed. But why? What purpose to continue? The remainder of this thread took off on a new tac and now it is finished. Fill in what may be empty spaces for your own mind. Imagine. What else is there to tell?
Thank you. I am grateful for your visit.