Nora Holzinger

  I was pedaling and panting, the wind whooshing in my ears, deafening, muffling all other sounds. Then I saw the coyotes. I pulled hard on my brakes and skidded to a stop. Suddenly the Bosque was quiet except for the maraca rustle of cottonwood leaves and my heaving breath. The summer sky was dark, a portent of the afternoon monsoon rains that would soon pelt the dry earth.  Four of them, two adults and two adolescents, striding over the bridge spanning the acequia towards me. One of the adults yawned, head low in the heat while the other adult looked back at the teenaged coyotes trailing behind. They came up the bridge and spotted me on the rise not 50 feet away, yellow eyes looking me over as they continued on, unconcerned with my presence.  This was my second encounter with coyotes in as many weeks. As the month dragged on, I would see a coyote every time I traveled through the Bosque.  — “The Bosque” as the locals call it, is the Rio Grande Valley State Park. I ...

 I lost my best friend to a cult.  We met in undergrad, studying similar disciplines in the same department and became close.  Brianna was effortlessly cool – she seemed to really know who she was and was comfortable in her own skin. She had this effortless thrifted style, was always reading about interesting topics, had a large group of fascinating friends. She was funny and smart and creative in ways I could only dream of being. A kind of joyous calm seemed to radiate off her, and as an incredibly depressed person at the time, I craved this energy.  For part of the time we lived in Baltimore City, she rented a room from this woman who lived in the wealthy, bohemian neighborhood of Mount Washington. In that kitchen she taught me vegan recipes, and we’d walk down the rainy autumnal street to a nearby yoga studio for the free community classes.   Back then, yoga felt euphoric. Finishing in corpse pose in the dim lighting of a yoga studio, my entire body had ...