Dog days

That time of year has now arrived when days pass with little change; each as clear and hot as the last, the evenings soon cooling into chilly nights. A slight blush of color has appeared in a few leaves of the dogwood trees, hinting at the brilliant splash of red they will soon display. The dusty petals of the roses are wilting, and the dried leaves of the bushes are losing their sheen. At night, I hear the acorns fall from the oaks, breaking the stillness as they rattle down the roofs of sheds and houses. Time hangs for a moment as though breathless, waiting for a sign that autumn should begin.

Weather continues

Today is the fifth day in a row when the temperature reached exactly 90 degrees. But today, the unremitting blue of the sky has been violated by the smoke from a forest fire east of the river. It has sent a yellowish-grey bank across the width of the southern horizon. It reminds me of the summer fogs of San Francisco, but there is no coolness in this sight. At least, the smoke has stayed far enough away that it cannot be smelled here on the ridge. There is something very disturbing about the smell of a wildland fire. Last year, the fires were almost constant throughout the summer. This year we have been spared that, thus far. I hope that this one will be controlled soon. I've had enough of fire in this place. I want rain.

Observation

Sometimes I feel as though I were stuck halfway up El Capitan without a crampon.

(Is that how "crampon" is spelled?)

Sheesh!