Mosquito Face My face is not exactly like two dogs humping, but it’s just as fascinating and embarrassing. Last week it was devoured by mosquitoes when my brother and I hiked through dry grass and blue oak forest to a lake. Since there was no moon, it was sort of like climbing Mt. Everest. When we finally stumbled onto the shore, we imagined the animals protesting our visit were geese, cows, bullfrogs, or some combination thereof. I thought it was a goose-cow-frog. My brother thought it was an angry bull. We sat down and looked into the darkness at the silhouettes of the “mighty oaks,” as they’re called in my book, Oaks of California. Then we heard a car screech and slam into something down below. Some frenetic Northern Lights appeared, pink behind the trees. The glow was accompanied by the sound of electricity escaped into the air, snapping noises generated from fallen power lines that were whipping the earth and cracking back upwards. The noise of the car getting doused with current, a series of erratic revs followed by desperate honks from a misfiring horn, came after the snaps.
