Their Bad Mother

This is the skyline as we approach our temporary home, the place that we are staying as we attend to the business of my father’s life and death.

notch hill fire.jpg
It’s the sky, behind a thick veil of smoke. Today, a few days later, the veil is even thicker, and the ash falls like snow outside our windows.

Still, it seems like nothing, a vague threat, something that might chase us out of our beds, which is frightening, yes, but end of the day, it’s just that, a vague threat, something vaguely threatening, something that just doesn’t, when held up against death and loss, scare one as much as it ought to, perhaps.

Perhaps my nerves are dulled. Perhaps such a thing is necessary, when one’s heart is so sore.

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