Where There’s Smoke . . .

      It looked like this on Labor Day weekend.

      That’s the sun, not the moon.  Underfoot, it looked like this.

     Ash whirled into piles like swirling leaves or drifting skiff of powder snow.  Then the rain and the snow really did come.

      Maybe it would be over!  But, no.  Things flared up again and took a big jump this past week.

 

      The story isn’t over.  Two hundred thousand acres are now on fire or already burned.  A big snow would help, but even when the fire is finally extinguished, there will be repercussions, not just for those poor souls who have lost property, but for all of us who have had a steady diet of smoke to inhale.

     2020 rages on.

       Robert Burns gets the final word, as he addresses a mouse whose “house” has been destroyed by Burns’ plow:

“The present only toucheth thee:

 But och! I backward cast my e'e,

 On prospects drear!

 An' forward, tho' I canna see,

 I guess an' fear!”