All we talk about is the smoke. 

Where I live it has replaced the weather; both conversationally and to some degree physically. Fire has become its own season.

I have not had a conversation in over a month that didn’t at least touch on the smoke.

But really, that’s only if we’re lucky. Because if we aren’t talking about the smoke, it’s because a fire has come close enough to talk about that instead. Close enough to our houses or friends houses or favorite places in the mountains that we watch slowly be eaten by a red line as the Facebook group updates the fire perimeter.

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