Wednesday, November 14th, 2018
The walk I walk is treacherous.
The hill I climb is not for the weary.
I am a veteran of the castle, hanging off the side of a mountain.
The hippies, artists and thieves awaken in the gulch.
Coyotes call from the distant hills.
There is a calm hush over this sleepy little town, the quiet before the rush.
The sun attempts to break through the haze on this cold fall morning.
It struggles, like most of us. It is Hump Day after-all.
The air is crisp and my nose is cold.
Wearing white long-johns and sweater-boots, an oversized turquoise sweatshirt with a gray thermal shirt underneath, black gloves and my dreaded Michigan coat, I step outside into the early morning chill. Not because I want to, I’m simply out of half-n-half. Coffee without creamer is torture for me.
My views of the Verde Valley are shadowed by an overcast sky.
A hot air balloon is barely visible in the smokiness that hides the red rock mountains.
I crave snow and the smell of wood burning in a fireplace.
My breathing is heavy. I stop halfway. A laundry-line strung across a porch for all the world to see - socks and shorts, t-shirts and towels - frozen in time. An empty parking lot in the middle of town, Jeromies emerge from their homes half-alert, classic rock music plays from a radio on a windowsill of an apartment above the storefronts. The volume is turned down low, just like the voices of passers-by.
A nod, a wave, a smile, a “mornin’” thrown at me here and there.
A simple smile is returned.
I open the door to the little coffee shop, the warmth and the aroma overwhelm my senses. A sigh of relief stretches far across my face. An Americano with creamer and a cranberry-orange muffin served warm are well worth the walk up the hill. Breakfast on The Steps, there’s only a few things better than that.
A black glove mysteriously wandered off, I hold the other for ransom.
Retracing my steps back down the hill, I find the escapee and return it to my coat pocket.
With my feet on the earth, I am reminded why I'm here.
I am a part of this place, and it is a part of me.
The warmth of my studio invites me back in.
My day has begun.
- Zushka Biros
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