Observation 2
- Scott Archer Jones
- Feb 22
- 1 min read
Every writer goes down to the DIY. For some, the DIY is the obituaries, for some it’s the Police Report, for some it’s the family Thanksgiving dinner. The writer comes home with a notebook of nuts and bolts, a hammer, a sack of nails. For all writers, it’s observation that provides the lumber.
Here’s your observation. You’re on the backroad 285 from Tres Piedres, New Mexico to Espanola, bicycling. You’re near a place that your phone names as “No Agua.” You pull over to stretch a hamstring and grab a swig out of your water bottle. It’s been a sunny, cold day, but now it’s clouded over and graupel is ghosting in on the faint wind. You see a young brown man wearing baggy shorts and a black T-shirt with the Madonna on the back in white. His forearms are heavily mottled with tattoos, looking like fierce bruising. His car is parked nearby. He has a cheap weed trimmer and he’s cutting grass away from a road side shrine. You are going to describe that shrine in a bit and it's not the one above. He also has a trowel and a machete.
A state police car pulls past you slowing dramatically. It jerks to the shoulder. The door opens.
What happens? Share your story here.
Sketch for threshing out later. State Police approaches shrine man. Conversation ensues. Subsequently, State Police depart. Person keeps working on shrine. Graupel begins to fall. You mount your bike and contine riding. A perfect devotion, as the transpiring of reality continues. You think to yourself, "Out in the wastelands, life continues in its picturesque perfection of moments.
Oh boy. Very descriptive and contemporary. I think you know where I’m headed with this one. But I did feel I was there in your words