Last night I went to sleep with a headache. I woke up this morning with the same headache. It smells like a Vermont ski lodge in my apartment. Wood burning fire place, hot tatties, running noses, wool sweaters, and gloves to keep your hands warm.

But of course, I don’t live in Los Angeles and it’s 90 degrees outside. And the smell of burning wood is from the wild fires that are raging out of control no more than 15 miles away from my house.

The sky doesn’t exist. It’s raining ash. The weather man is telling people not to go outside. Close the windows. Don’t breathe.

Because it’s not wood that’s burning. It’s television sets, computers, clothing, beds, couches, people’s homes.

Their lives being destroyed gave me this headache.

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