It’s 90 degrees. Town shimmers with dry heat, asphalt melts, and you can’t sleep in. But a warm breeze blows and we lounge languid and bare-limbed next to a bubbling cool spring.
Smoke gathers in the distance, shrouding the sierra in a purplish, grey haze. My friends are displaced from their home, the fire burning on every road leading into the valley. But we’re lucky enough to be able to laugh and camp comfortably in our vehicles, making dinner and smoking spliffs under a surprisingly clear night sky.
