so listen

Vancouver is erased today by the souls of dead trees, smoke from fires up North and in the interior. It sifts down to the street, obscuring the horizon, clouding the city with a fog of trapped white ashes so thick you cannot see downtown from my balcony, like a television trick to hide the edges of a sci-fi set. The mountains are shadows, almost invisible in spite of their size. Above us, the sky is mediocre, streaked with only the barest smudges of pale teal, while the sun is reduced to a dark orange spot with visible edges, the burned heart of a glass flower fresh from the forge, bright yet safe to look upon directly. Light is muted in every direction. We are living in a light box. There are no black shadows.

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