This is the fourth day morning in a row I’ve woken up in California, and the entire Southland is singed with wildfires. Even though all the windows in the house are open, the sun is melting the worse of her rays onto our brown backs. The flames are licking from the dry brushes of Los Angeles’s native hills. The air becomes heavy and the red glow tints the blue skies.
California is smoldering underneath my feet and kicked into full-fledged fire season. The brush fires are-a blazin’ down by San Diego way, and as Mashable stated in this well-crafted package on the California wildfires, this outlandish early summer fire behavior is due to the intense drought California has faced while I’ve been away at school.
Everything moves phantasmically in this desertlike weather. It’s hard to breathe, eat, think, drive or smoke. At any moment my nose could rupture into a profuse nosebleed.
All I can do is wait. Wait to drink another bottle of water, wait until the cool breezes of summer nights blow the scorch of the day, and wait for the rain to wash us out.