Where There's Smoke

The window in my office looks to the west, and the sunsets have been spectacular the last couple days from the smoke of brush fires burning in Orange County. A deep red sun sinks into and back out of the marine layer that comes each evening, striping or hiding parts of the sun from view.

The smell of smoke still hangs in the air this morning. It smells different from a wood fire in a way I can't put into words. In Southern California we know the smell of a brush fire the way Scots know the smell of a peat fire. Pungent, maybe, with a subtle harmony twining its way through. And even though I know it means destruction, I find the smell a pleasant one.

They say that Eskimos have a hundred names for snow (and other "they"s say that's not true), but around here we may need a lot more names for smoke. This is the kind that rises from the grasses and touches the sun.