The Old Mill in the middle of the desert. It was further from the parking lot that it seemed. Two miles round trip didn't account for the getting lost and the getting lost a second time. There was a broken down old car decaying. Felt like the end of the road. Beyond only mountains. Walked a little further. A large man was walking toward me. Was he a mirage? He wore a bright white mask. I asked, "Is the old mill further?" He seemed tired. "Yeah, it's just under that ridge." He pointed. I followed his finger down. There was nothing there. A woman appeared, huffing and puffing behind him. She grumpily futzed with a medical mask in her pocket trying to get it on before I passed. She was so worked up she broke it, announced so, and held it over her face. Lots going on there.
Kept walking and walking. When we arrived at the park the ranger eyed our shorts and said she hoped we had warmer clothes. We had sweatshirts. It was so quiet and chilly. Now, unplanned hours later, the sun was getting hot and we were out of water. Suddenly the mill. It appeared only once we were there.
I loved it immediately. Blue and tin, a broken track. I longer to touch the wooden side, but it was behind a fence. A small room with a mysterious window. I stared into it. Who used to stare out? Alone and clear.
Why was it so beautiful to me? I was in a natural wonder and my favorite part was the heap of garbage. It was people's livelihoods and it didn't work out. Maybe my whole self electrifies because either they hated it and became free. Or they put all their hopes in the world in that shack and it broke their hearts, but something else happened. Was it a mirage?
No comments:
Post a Comment