The XJ-13 smoke is of an unusual flavor. It tastes sort of fruity but it's also soapy. One generic description of the strain said the smoke had a finish reminiscent of chamomile. I admit I had not thought of chamomile—my palate is not that sharp—but I must agree. Not quite fruity not quite soapy not quite medicinal but herbal with a mouth-coating finish reminiscent of sipping a cup of chamomile tea.

This is Arizona, this is Tucson. I am in the casita. The fan is going, the door is open (screen engaged), 29% relative humidity, 81°. It does not get much better than this! To be breathing so much wild air, so much fresh, outside air is a treat, a privilege—even if the pollen count is a little high.

A delivery from that online retailing powerhouse has arrived. Need some erasers? How about some fresh Boveda packs? A tube of dog toothpaste? You can't have the 2-pk of screen door roller wheels. I need these to replace the cracked and worn-out wheels on this sliding screen door that lets the air in but keeps the bugs (and other critters including rattlesnakes) out. I often leave the glass door slid open with nothing but the screen keeping this casita secure all night. Sometimes with music going. This casita is one of my happier, one of my happiest places. If you have not seen me here, you have not seen one of the better versions of me lo these last five or ten years. Come on out to Tucson, the water's fine!

12:39. Anyway. I am toggling back and forth between maintaining some useful level of focus on this written page while also giving myself some leeway to float away and if necessary get a little whirlpooled by a worthy topic or stray thought. If there is some other direction my subconscious, my memory, or my unconscious self wants to take me then I need to be willing to consider letting it lead me.

I'll tell you this, though. These Lucy's Warblers have been the bird of the trip and it's not even a close contest. The are more heard than seen; their omnipresent scissory warble is all over this town, from up here in the foothills down to the running path along the dry wash cutting through the middle of this bright, dry, hazy mountain-desert town. The Gambel's Quail, always a fan favorite with their cat-like calls and their drooping black forehead dongles, have also been especially vocal and prevalent this time around. Sometimes they stay quiet and stay hidden—maybe during the hottest months, or when coyotes and bobcats are especially close, on the prowl. I will try to type... 12:43...

...14:00. It's been a solid hour and a half writing, typing, blogging. I powered through some entries. Now I'm interested in a drink. It's time to w(h)et the whistle.

I never got too high or too low with the XJ-13 this time. Its effects were in line with a Sour Diesel high. I experience a heavy feeling but beneath that upper crust there's a level on which the most of me is motivated, focused, and foraging. I wouldn't call the XJ-13 a "conversation starter" strain for me, but these days what strain is?

I'm signing off once again from Tucson. Tucson, I love you, but we can't keep saying goodbye like this...

This is just an excerpt. Click here or on the photo of that sunset over the mountains for the full post. Thanks for reading!