(repost from social media; photo by Kiwi Illafonte)
I've spent most of the morning just wandering around the house, looking agape out the windows at the dark orange skies, occasionally stepping outside to try to take a photo and marveling at how cold it is because of how thoroughly that powerful California sun is blocked by smoke.
I have the impulse to write and document and connect with people about this but I'm at a loss and just keep watching the posts and pics scroll by.
It feels like it's nighttime out, the house is so dark. I'm relieved I'm not working; I don't understand how the hell anyone can be expected to focus and work through this. But how many occasions has 2020 given us to say such a thing? And yet we trudge on.
I think I'll let myself disconnect for a while and continue rereading "The Stone Sky" from N.K. Jemisin's Broken Earth series, which feels incredibly, bitterly apropos. (It describes a dark, post-apocalyptic, rapidly cooling world with the sun blotted out by smoke and ash.)
Stay safe, friends.