Smoke and fire

This is an anecdotal post, about those little nothing moments that make life.

This is the end of the month today. I often say that this blog takes the colours of seasons, but this summer has been strange so far, switching from atypically cold and unexpectedly hot. Difficult to take the colours of a chameleon summer. it is also more difficult to get the feel of a day, of any season.

One thing marked me last week: I was walking back home and it was quite smoky around, a grey, thick, smelly smoke, as if there had been a big fire nearby. There was no trace of fire anywhere but this smoke: no fire trucks, no burning building, nothing of the sort. Just the smoke. It reminded me of the hot summer days in Chicoutimi when winds were bringing the load of smoke, sometimes ashes, created by forest fires up in the neighbourhood. Forest fires were terrifying things: there were adverts on TV urging us to be careful with matches in wild lands, to avoid woods when it was too hot and dry, etc. For me, this is what a dangerous summer smells like: dry and smoky. It got printed in my psyche.