Smoke

Homeward bound on I-84, we pass over bluffs and across ravines. The Columbia glides along beside the minivan, sunlight sparkling off ripples.

The muted sound of Temple Run. “How much longer?” The hum of so much concrete under rubber tires.

A journey of many turns and undulations.

The sky blue fades and melts to a sickly amber hue. Smoke. Wildfires. Flakes of ash fall like summer snow. “Nothing to worry about.” We press on.

We pull off. One last tank before the Gorge.

“Lightning.” She pumps our gas. This is Oregon. “Bad thunderstorms this afternoon.”

“Thanks.” We don’t look back.


Picture is by Oregon Department of Forestry.

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