Random Thoughts

The view from the front door of my hotel is notably unextraordinary. Beyond our parking lot, roughly the length of a flagpole, lies a man-made field of dirt and scrub. It had been tagged for development several years ago. Why, I don't know. I suppose because it had not been tagged for development before. So, while they did a wonderful job of bulldozing all life from this little plot of land, the powers-that-be apparently had no motivation (or cash) to continue the project. Over the last three years our little parking lot-in-waiting has actually reacquired a more natural feel. In the summertime, the weeds and scrub reach heights of seven or eight feet. The ground has become more broken, though it is still hard and dry, as excess water runs off into the city drainage ditch next door. There are a couple of large mounds of dirt where the bulldozer people decided to focus the remains of their land-levelling. They are beginning to look like small hills. I imagine that once ugly trees start growing, the nice developers will be back in time to level the land one again.


And since there are no trees to block it, we have a lovely view of a Sam's Club loading dock ahead and to the right. Nothing is quite as majestic as the sight of cop cars sitting in the lot, hidden in the shadows of the building, waiting for people to zoom by at 30 mph...


To the left is a burgeoning development of near-empty condos. This project actually did find completion. They are grey three story structures with above ground garages. I am sure you have one of these within 3-5 miles of your own home, no matter where you live. Spare and unimaginative, I would imagine the construction workers felt the same way.


Now, you must know that my affection for the twilight hours lies in a very special realm. They are the hours between light and dark, between awake and asleep, between life and death. They are the hours of laughter and cheer, where business makes way for pleasure, where the world slows down. Twilight, bold and brief, straining against the coming of the night, casts a light in which all appears more fair.


The air itself seems to come alive during twilight. Receding blue fades beyond the trees as shadows dance below. Streams of light, like laser beams, glow. Here and there, the dark battles the light, a transcendent, eternal struggle that shall exists until our world is no more. That would begin to describe the awe in me each night. There is no stillness in twilight, just constant change. And I can relate. I was born in April, at 10:04 PM, still fully in the night. But since then, my life has been lived fully in the twilight hours and all that it encompasses.


So, back to the condos. They really do look lovely at twilight. As the sun retreats into the Earth for yet another night of slumber, shadows slowly rise across the buildings, giving them a slightly purplish hue and turning them into pillar clocks heralding the darkness to come. The remaining beams of red, orange, and yellow, play an intricate dance upon the windows of these condos, swirling and twirling from one to the next, like shooting stars. The lush, but formless green of distant trees gives way to black and bold, a final farewell before they blend into the night.


Who knew someone just like Donald Trump could create something so poetic?