Scenes From a Smoky Day

Today’s post begins with a fractal image called Fire Flower. I picked it because it made me think about what I was writing. What follows are two scenes from what I experienced on a smoky Wednesday (October 24) . I am nowhere near any of the fires burning in Southern California but our neighborhood has been seeing the affects all day--the first time that has happened. I couldn’t photograph what I saw so I wanted to paint a word picture. I hope it works. . .
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SEEN ON A SMOKY MORNING
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I feel like I'm living on an alien planet right now or maybe I've somehow wandered into a "Plein Air" painting . . .
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White clouds are feathering the sky like the pinfeathers of an angel's wing against a steel-blue sky. Swirls of red-brown smoke dance in almost paisley-lke precision from horizon to horizon. The rising sun is a burnished brass ball throwing slate-colored shadows behind trees and buildings. Everything is lightly shrouded in mists--and for a moment I am walking through my own waking dream. Leaves on the many trees have taken on an almost metallic quality but the grass and shrubs shine almost like they are lit from within by neon. Yellows and greens shine hotly but oranges and browns look muddy and drab: shades of blue and purple have gone gray and flat. My nose picks up the scent of salt on the breeze: it is the smell of redemption and renewal. I want to cry : I want to sing a dirge but the misty silence enfolds me in a tender embrace so instead I send a prayer to the skies…
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APOCOLYPSE IN THE AFTERNOON
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The sky has become a pale iron-colored bowl overhead and the crimson sun burns feebly, trying to light the day. The still air is hot and thickly-most as it surrounds me in a close, overly-familiar yet still unwanted embrace. Again I walk through dream-created silence but my world is shattered by the sound of helicopters overhead: I cannot see them beneath the imagined shelter of the trees but I find myself imagining a flotilla of gigantic angry beetles.
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I move on down a street that has gone black and white: the pale colors are washed out and the dark ones can hardly be distinguished in the red light of advancing afternoon. Only a few bits of sun-lit new growth shine green and hot against the somber background. Again the peace of my world is shattered by a young man behind the wheel of a red sports car: it almost seems like it is on fire. The powerful engine growls like a feral jungle beast with the music providing a throbbing bass counterpart. Laughter from inside the vehicle echoes off the walls and the sound is hard and cruel. I turn for home glad of sheltering walls...