Downtown Prescott Inn, Prescott AZ, 1910…
Submissivania eyeballs me over her morning coffee. Two green pools of bottomless desire beckon me to be what I am not. I am not young. So I look away & comment on the weather.
“Indeed it is Spring,” replies Submissivania.
Prescott is budding everywhere. We witnessed the last of the winter snow a few days after our arrival about a month ago. Now Spring is on the prowl.
Downtown Prescott is nestled in the hills down which trickles Granite Creek. The city is an old mining and cattle town ~ with some suburbs now ~ the major tumor on the side of its head being Prescott Valley. The city of Prescott has vehemently, protectively, adopted as its own the forest it ravaged in the early days. Thumb Butte, a towering outcrop of blunt rock west of downtown, is the city signpost. Granite Mountain, a much bigger rock and a mountain-lion lair, stoically eternally grimaces yonder northwest.
The vivacious damsel & I have rooms across the hall from each other on the topmost 3rd floor of the Downtown Prescott Inn. This inn has the characteristics of an old miner whose Stairway to Heaven is made of thick slabs of ornate wood. This inn is quite an establishment in my estimation ~ enough so that I’m going broke staying here. It doesn’t take much to make me go broke. My only income, presently, is a meager stipend of Social Security that I began receiving this long-gone winter.
Out on our 3rd-floor balcony Submissivania & I lean against the rail & drink the free brew from the main lobby. We got a nice view up here. Submissivania commences in wrapping me around her little finger by saying, “Rawclyde, when are you going to start wearing your new hat? Aren’t you tired of that old one yet?”
“By n’ by,” wistfully crow I, gazing at Thumb Butte out yonder…
Thumb Butte, Prescott AZ, photo by Franz Rosenberger