Smoke and Mirrors and Ash

We do have trees that change color here in LA.

But it's the middle of November, and this is a scene outside my house this afternoon.


Shorts, Crocs and scooters. And sweat. November in Los Angeles this year is hot, hot, hot.

The sacrifice for pomegranates hanging heavy from trees


and roses blooming in winter




is this:

and this:


The orange isn't the sunset. It's the peculiar color the skies get when there are fires burning. They're miles and miles away from my house, but there's smoke in the air tht makes your throat rough and your nostrils twitch. There's fine, fine ash floating around. It lands on your purse, on your clothes like wisps of gray and white, and when you touch it, it dissolves, leaving the tiniest smear on your finger.