In which a woman and world burn

“The emotional toll of wildfires can be profound, leaving scars that linger long after the flames have been extinguished.” — Jennifer Balch

Today reminds me of California. The smoggy sky reminds me of the hazy air that encased everything in some static, strange smelling place. The gray scent reminds me of the ash that used to fall from the sky like snowflakes in late summer. The flakes would collect on my doorstep like some ill-timed delivery; and if I really wanted, I could stick out my tongue, step outside, and feel the ash melt in my mouth. 

There really is no way to run from the impending doom that shadows our lives like a storm cloud. No place is free from the effects of red devils and high winds running wild across the continents. The smoke will trail me, enter into my lungs, make a home, and build a fireplace. Will my first love be able to taste it? Taste the embers in the enclaves of my ribcage? The burning at the base of my throat? The soot on the tip of my tongue? Will they feel the roughness of my blackened lips, charred and dusty? A kiss laced with desperation for anything other than heat.