Skip Breeze

Skip Breeze 


First Observation 2/6/09 2:28-5:45 p.m.: I am sitting in an underpass just below Pecos road past Recker. Rocks are in turn underneath me and there is a canal at my feet. The area is wide. Giant pillars holding up the road above are erected in the center of the canal. The other side seems so far away, but experience has shown that a well thrown stone can reach its bank. Light never fully envelopes this place as the road above is heading east and west, providing constant coverage from the Suns intrusive rays. Currently the canal is void of the substance it was created for. In its stead there is an abundance of lush green grass escaping from a muddy prison and encroaching on the edge of the seemingly out of place cement. A slight and comforting wind sways the grass into a majestic dance. The shade of green the grass holds shifts to and from lighter and darker as the flowing partner continues to caress it. The inescapable scent of forthcoming rain wafts in from the clouds above. In the approaching days this place promises to become a most exhilarating site. Time is a lost concept here. The only recognition it receives is when dusk turns to night and dawn into day. This is a place of ever-changing order. The way it is left will never be that upon return. There are only two constants this place had has to offer: the flow of new water will wipe away what once was here and it will always be my place of refuge and tranquility. This place has been given a “proper” name by those who constructed it for its use as a canal (Roosevelt Canal: Pecos Crossing) but I decided to rechristen it with a name that I believe holds truer to what it really is, Skip Breeze. 

Second Observation 2/8/09 1:16- 2:52 a.m.: Rain is beating hard on Pecos road above and Skip Breeze is slowly filling up with its intended playmate. Where I sit is dry. My hand moves across the rocks beside me, probing for the smooth surface that always belongs to a prime skipping stone candidate; my other hand searches through my bag to find the flashlight I stored in its depths. Upon the flashlight’s discovery I switch it on to look at what has transpired in my absence. The grass is still captured in a beautifully entrancing dance, but this time the Wind is not its partner. The current of the water is conducting the grass’ movements and its rhythm is relentless. By the end of the ordeal the grass will surely succumb to fatigue and allow its director to sweep it away. There is no strong gust of wind in Skip Breeze despite the storm that rages, there is only but a slight flurry of air carrying the scent of the maelstrom. There is no light here (my flashlight has been turned off). There is no moonlight, streetlight, or starlight; no houses or apartments are radiating a glow, this place has become a void. Another soul who did not know the grandeur of this place would be easily frightened by the way it has robbed the most used and coveted sense we possess, but not me. I am relishing in it. It is a simple peace that is being offered to me. Upon my sight’s theft I begin to appreciate the sounds. The sound of water flowing combating with the sound of the rain for supremacy, a rare vehicle above sloshing water into the air, the wind pointing which way the rain should go next, all of these things are drawing my attention. I lay back and let myself become completely enveloped in them.