Omens

[rejectomorph]

When the moon rose last night, it was the color of custard. It soon regained its pale face, and reached that point at which its light shone on the television antenna next door. Everything around the antenna was dark, and the light it caught seemed disembodied, a series of bright dashes floating in space, like some cryptic message. I've always found that an eerie sight. About midnight I began to catch whiffs of wood smoke. The scent has lingered ever since, but has grown no stronger, and through the night I caught no glimpse of a red glow anywhere that I could see.

But morning has revealed a brown haze hovering above the canyon of the river to the east. I suppose I should check the news, to see if there is in fact a fire in that direction. The hot weather has come on so suddenly that I had not even thought what a dangerous fire season this could turn out to be. The abundant rains have undoubtedly nourished an abundance of fuel. Perhaps it was smoke which gave the rising moon its color. The birds are oddly quiet this morning, except for the crows, none of whom I can see, but whose excited caws I hear nearby, beyond the still trees.