March 21st 2013 by Keith Wood

The rabbit brush begin to show tiny green nubs along still grey stems. Soon the native garden at Bluff Lake will sweetly stink from tiny yellow flowers. Bore holes will appear in the galls. Who will emerge? I’ve suspected rabbit brush beetle but am not sure. Before today the galls were white–yogurt covered raisins. Now some have turned into wasabi peas. I clumsily split one with my nail finding a rice sized larva. The day holds a chill and the small beast rears ever so slightly from my thumb. The adult? Research reveals small “picture winged” fruit flies: Aciurina bigeloviae.

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How to Talk to Girls at Parties

We talk about basic things.

“I like your dress- first time wearing it? How’s your day going, where are you coming from?”

You’d think we’d known each other for years.

I’m not a player. I’m a guy talking to a girl, and we’re vibing, and let’s see where it goes.

She’s at the party with her roommate. Or she’s walking from the train to work. Or waiting for coffee. Or shopping with her mom. Her day has rhythm and cadence – feel the rhythm and dancing will come easily.

We walk and talk and it’s regular. No games, no gimmicks.

Wine by Craig Towsley

“Do you ever kind of wish your house would burn down?” Mouse asked.

Rabbit sat beside her on the dock, their toes dipping in the lake. She swallowed a mouthful of sweet wine and turned to her friend.

“What?” she said.

“Oh. Nothing,” Mouse said and waved the words away against the night sky. “Maudlin drunk talk, that’s all.”

They sat there and finished the wine and listened to the sound of the lake in the dark.

“I guess, I just have so much useless stuff I drag around,” Mouse said. “It would be nice to get rid of it.”

Addicted

It’s not that I’m addicted to coffee – I’m addicted to 20 hour days. Doing it all. Having a calm morning and a cup of coffee, quiet focus all alone. Then going to class, or my job, or walking around Manhattan, grabbing coffee with a friend, buzzing in the rhythm of the city.

The day dwindles and pockets of the city light up with people loud and trying to get laid. Eventually the night takes over. And the day winds down just as it started, with me alone in my studio with a cup of coffee, quiet focus all alone.

Out of the Cabin

She raises her face into the swirl of wet snowflakes and smiles. Alone in a sloppy snowstorm, she can’t help but leave the unspoken morning grumpiness in her cabin behind. The snowdrift melts away beneath her snowshoes when she stops. A perfect temperature for leavening the air with the scent of Sitka spruce.

She begins to wonder about the source of her husband’s truculence, but a posse of silent gray jays arrests her attention when they swing into a tree above her. They look expectant. She shakes water from her jacket, grins at them and continues on down the drainage.