Okay ~ there is to be no more crap from Clyde. I am pushing 70 and I am tired of it. And I have a hunch everybody else is tired of it too. From now on it’s only what is and that’s all.
For example, I am sitting right now in a 300-dollar recliner in front of a 350-dollar-a-month window ~ and I just finished my morning coffee ~ which I drank from a styrofoam cup. There. That is what is and that is all.
There’s going to be a lot of I’s from now on, because I am the only one here. More I’s than usual. Oh well.
I’ve got a rather sweeping view of the historic “Yuma Crossing” outside this window, here on the 5th floor of Hotel San Carlos. Most prominent is the freeway on giant concrete stilts curving across the view. When the window is open, like right now, I can hear it ~ motorists zooming back n’ forth ~ sounds kind of like surf. But ever since I took a long walk in the desert beside a freeway, I think of freeways as ribbons of death. So that’s what stretches across my view here.
Well, actually, what’s really most prominent is the desert sky above everything ~ wisps of white mist floating along in all that blue. What’s least prominent is what’s in the gulch under the freeway, which is actually a bridge across the Colorado River, which is what is hiding in the gulch. And behind that curving concrete is an older trestle bridge with less traffic, and behind this older bridge is an even older trestle bridge made of thicker iron upon which the trains roll by, which are partially hidden by all this as they chug along. All this is bunched up in front of my window. And between this and the window, down below, is a beautiful water treatment facility, in which are huge square pools of water whose only diving boards and cheerful swimmers are in my mind.
This is what is. This is reality. And it’s all passing me by. I sit here. Excuse me. I recline here, as history moves on, and I have long conversations with what sits still for years and years on the other side of the river, facing me on the summit of a little hill, located behind and above the ribbon of death ~
The Saint Thomas Indian Mission Church.
(text copyright clyde collins 2019)