The agony and the ecstasy

Yesterday I cried on my way to work. There was no particular reason - the tears simply started flowing because I was so tired, and I was driving past the charred remains of the burnt-down woods, and I had seen a dead fawn in the ditch, hit by a car. 

I thought I had pulled myself together when I arrived at work, smiling at my co-workers and patients, talking to the guy on the phone who had fixed my machine, even making a joke and laughing. 

Living under constant threat

The call comes at 11:39 on Sunday morning. "The smoke is getting really bad here and it's extremely windy. You better come home and pack our important stuff."

I've been expecting and dreading this call since June 30. Ever since Lytton burnt down during the worst heat wave in history, we've all been wondering if we would be next. Is it our turn now?

How to live a joyful life in scary times

The smoke is hanging thick in the air, giving the world a sepia-tinted appearance like it's one of those old, yellowed photographs from decades ago. The sun is obscured by smoke, transforming it into a red orb in the sky. Everything smells strongly of campfire, a smell I used to love. Will I ever enjoy the smell again without being reminded of this time? I don't know.