Sept 2,2020 - Wednesday

The world is drenched in a pink light these days, sun filtered through the ash of woodsmoke, of fire along the coast, burning through the wooded canyons, the meadows of bunch grass, of oat grass, chasing the Tule elk to bellow against the waves, sending the elk to crash the cow-fences, gallop past blistered cars and firefighters in their thick yellow armor against flames and gasses and fury.

The pink light lingers over the green lawns for weeks, backlighting purple sages, tall yellow sunflowers in the afternoon. Apricot-tinted light in tree-shadows, in the corners behind the patio and lawn chairs. We don’t go out so much anymore.

The pink light of dawn shadows, the pinkish yellow light of the late afternoon, glazing the pepper tree, the big red ball of the sun sliding down behind the purple-hued hills. This is the burning world right now, drenched in flames, suffused with ash.