In The Hanged Air
I woke up today and went to my classes as usual, thinking vaguely to myself that it was oddly overcast today, considering that I now go to college in a tiny town way up in the middle of the rocky mountains. After living in a valley where the surrounding mountains trap the smog so that the sky is one unbroken expanse of white for half of the year, it's something of a relief to live in a place where the sky is almost always blue--even if it is ridiculously dry. But when I looked up today, I saw only the same vast white sky I was used to in the valley.
Maybe we'll get some rain, I thought fleetingly. It would evaporate entirely within a few hours, leaving no sign that it had ever been there, but I could at least revel in it while it lasted. It wasn't until I walked home from my 11:30 class that I realized there was no tell-tale scent of rain, no hint of moisture in the air: only a slight smoky smell. The sky seemed to have only gotten more overcast as the day went on; the light of the sun filtering through the cloud-cover had a strange jaundiced look; and on the slight breeze, a few fluffy grey flecks of ash blew down Main Street.
There's a fire on the mountain somewhere, my roommate told me. The smoke is covering the sky.
Maybe we'll get some rain, I thought fleetingly. It would evaporate entirely within a few hours, leaving no sign that it had ever been there, but I could at least revel in it while it lasted. It wasn't until I walked home from my 11:30 class that I realized there was no tell-tale scent of rain, no hint of moisture in the air: only a slight smoky smell. The sky seemed to have only gotten more overcast as the day went on; the light of the sun filtering through the cloud-cover had a strange jaundiced look; and on the slight breeze, a few fluffy grey flecks of ash blew down Main Street.
There's a fire on the mountain somewhere, my roommate told me. The smoke is covering the sky.