SELECTION A In the Forest
1I walk deeper into the forest, the buzzing sounds of insects everywhere. I turn to Gerald, my closest friend in the entire world, and say, “I can definitely hear the bugs, but I can’t see them. It’s as if they’re invisible.”

2Gerald opens his mouth to answer, but Marla interrupts him, answering first. “The insects are difficult to see because of their natural camouflage. If they are hidden and hard to see, their chances of survival are greatly improved.”

3Marla is not my friend. Recently she has been following Gerald and me around wherever we go, trying to impress us with random information she knows. She clearly has a crush on me, hoping that her explanations of the Revolutionary War or erosion will make me fall in love with her. I’m fairly confident that I can resist her charms.

4Marla bends down and picks up an ordinary twig off of the ground. “This insect is called a walking stick,” she says, and the twig begins to move. She is right. It’s not a twig at all but a strange bug shaped exactly like a stick. It can get irksome when she drones on and on about useless facts.

5“That’s remarkable,” Gerald replies, smiling. Gerald is a nice guy, and he’s obviously being nice to Marla so her feelings don’t get hurt. I wonder if I should just come out and tell her that I’m not interested and let her down easy.

6“All around us,” Marla says, “there are countless things that go unnoticed. Most people don’t look at the world closely enough, so they miss everything. It looks like there’s nothing on this tree, but if you come in close there’s a moth here.”

7I walk past Marla toward the tree and, again, she is correct. There is a moth there, the same color as the tree, so most people would never notice it. I think that there must be hundreds of things in the woods that are secret and hidden and well protected.

8I turn around to explain this to Marla—who maybe isn’t so annoying after all, maybe I’m just being cantankerous—and I see that she is standing next to Gerald. They are standing strangely close to each other, and in the space between them I can just barely see that they are holding hands. Their fingers are intertwined, folding over each other like a butterfly’s wings tucked away in its protective cocoon.

SELECTION B

Blueberries
9I loved you on Monday, darling, And picked blueberries for you in my father’s backyard.

10 On Tuesday, I placed the bursts of fruit inside a wooden box, Wrapped it ‘round with pink ribbon and wished upon a star.

11Wednesday, we savored the berries together on your shabby back porch, Drank iced tea and watched the frogs hop-a-long home.

12 We laughed all the way to Thursday, dear, You never looked more lovely than you did that afternoon.

13I loved you on Friday, but a storm had rolled in, The rain came down hard; your heart turned stormy, too.

14 By Saturday, the fruit was rotting in the yard, Sky blue juice stains had washed from our fingers.

15I loved you on Sunday, my sweet, But you were already gone; now I pick blueberries alone.

16And wonder if they’ll ever taste as sweet.

“In the Forest” by Arnie Niekamp.

“Blueberries” by Mary Fons.