Smoke is sneaky

The wildfire smoke is back.

It wasn’t here earlier when we grilled dinner on the deck. Now it drifts between the branches, sifting low over the summer garden like a slow, unwelcome ghost.

I finally understand why smoky scenes are a staple in creepy shows. You can’t trust it. It seeps silently into your surroundings, then slips down into your lungs. The grit of it lingers in your nostrils, a stubborn reminder that the air itself has turned treacherous.

The Boundary Waters are burning again, along with fresh fires across Canada. We can always hope for a brisk north wind to sweep it clean. But more likely, we’ll spend the rest of the summer cloaked in this thickened haze—on again, off again—while the garden keeps reaching for sun that isn’t quite there.