One deep breath told me it wasn’t fog hanging over the ocean this morning, it was smoke. Smoke from fires burning in Washington state, Oregon and California. Wildfire smoke, the residue of acres of smoldering wilderness and wild life, homes and hopes. Smoke so thick it smothered the horizon. My eyes burned. I can’t imagine what it must be like in the thick of things.
The images on the news are devastating but I know they don’t do the horror justice. Flames licking a darkened sky – midnight at noon. Frantic people escaping the blaze while firefighters march toward it. Homes reduced to ash, dreams to dust. It’s too much to fathom even as I breathe the fumes of its reality. This is climate change.
I could get lost in the news. Last week the virus racked up its death toll, civilians marched and police sprayed tear gas on their dissent, anchormen droned on about political scandals and shady politicians and the Atlantic Ocean threw a series of hurricanes and tropical storms at the east coast. The world is a mess.
I could turn off the television but then what? Nothing would change. Would I sleep better in a fog of ignorance? I doubt it, I’m a person who tries not to peek through her fingers when suspense gets the better of me but I rarely succeed. If I don’t face things head on my imagination fills in the blanks. There is no looking away for me right now.
I am safe here in my green corner of the world, I have the luxury of only imagining what others are facing. I’m living in the juxtaposition of devastation but only because I’m lucky – maybe that’s the reason I can’t, and shouldn’t, look away. To be lucky and not acknowledge that luck is taking it for granted. I need to find more ways to spread this luck around, to lean into my privilege and use it – there are many ways to fight a fire but first you have to feel it.