HAZY DAY in CAMPBELL RIVER

               B.C. is burning. Almost 200 forest fires and counting.
                               The news is  stuffed with images of  forest burning.
                                          It is so hot here. Too hot to write or think.

                                           When I walk past the front window I find myself looking at the mountains.
                                            The forest. Which is right at our doorstep.  Looking for it.
                                                                  I have to stop myself.

                                                   The most we have is haze, smoke  over Campbell River.
                                                        Every morning. But it clears.  I still look out at the forest.

                                               The  outside has grown very quiet these days.
                                                  Like the haze is a dampening field.

                                              Starting on Friday, July 3,  Fires burned (three hours north)
                                                           in Port Hardy. At the end of Vancouver Island.
                                                Wayyyy at the end, I keep telling myself.
                                                           
                                         

                                          And three hours south, at Sproat Lake, there was another fire.
                                                      Near the town of Port Alberni.
                                             Human caused. Of course. Silly humans.

                               The Dog Mountain, Sproat Lake,  fire has grown to 245 hectares.
                               But it has slowed.  So the fire crews say on the news.
                                     What exactly does  "slowed" mean.
                          I go and take another look outside at the forest and the mountain.
                                   The forest fire fighters are amazing. They are heroes.

                                              Cats come and go. Too hot to move. But they move a little.
                                                   Just enough to be  fussed over.

                                              Spencer is the same colour as the dried out grass.
                                      He must be as hot and wilting as the rest of us.

                                          Robins still come to the birdbath. In the heat. In the haze.

                                                   To splash. In the precious water.

                                               Cordelia watches from high on the fence.All that long fur.
                                                 I bet she's hot. She trills and purrs in the quiet.

                                              I have this longing to go and look at the mountain again.
                                            To stare at the forest. But I don't.
                                                        I pick sweet peas instead.
                                   And put them in my mother's antique cream pitcher.
                                                           Keeps me busy. In the heat.

                                               The daylight is gold. Spencer's fur  glows.

                                              Flop.Have I mentioned that it's hot?
                                   Doesn't matter what the exact temperature is.
                                              I've forgotten.  Somewhere in the middle 30's.
                                ( That's Celsius, not Farenheit, by the way.)

                                             I won't look at the forest again.  Sizzzle. Sizzle.
                                                 Sniff the air. By nightfall the smoke has cleared.
                                          And the moon looks   like a big ball cheese.
                                               I hope  rain will come soon. And wash it all away.
                          Maybe then I'll look at the forest again. And the mountains.