Out of the blue...

Warm temps today, with punchy little gusts of wind. A fire down in Gallup blew smoke this way, but the air isn’t bad—yet. Knocking wood, hoping it stays that way. Used to be summer here was just summer. Now you flinch whenever you see something unusual in the sky, and think, oh no, not again.

 The Yellowstone was the first. Then came the Hayman, Waldo Canyon, and the Black Forest. The big burns in the Jemez and the forests of Arizona. Waldo Canyon was the worst up close. The whole mountainside was afire, and you could stand out on the porch and watch the slurry planes and helicopters drop their loads. Sky was brown for days. The color of tea. Somebody even claimed to have a picture of a waterfall in the mountains pouring pure black into a pool below.

Got some good story material out of those times, but would trade it right now for the promise of no more burns. Ever. Anywhere. Here’s praying it’s a wet summer. The kind that used to come with the cooling afternoon showers, and sweet, smokeless starlit nights. Writing weather. Dreaming weather.