A while ago I saw a graph about the current fire season in California, and was a bit surprised to discover that so far we've had more fires burning more than twice the acreage than we had by this date in 2020, an that was the worst fire season in the state's history. It hasn't seemed so bad to me because we've only had the one large fire nearby, and then briefly got a bit of smoke from another some distance north, and aside from those the air has been pretty clear. There hasn't been much activity from the firefighting planes at Chico airport, either. Out of sight, out of mind, I guess. It's very unlikely our luck will hold, though. The biggest part of summer and all of fall lies ahead, and we're bound to get some smoky days before the fire season is over— if indeed this fire season ever ends. It's getting awfully close to perpetual.
I heard the mockingbird again tonight, so he must still be unmated. Perhaps his temporary disappearance had to do with the commotion of the holiday. I was hearing fireworks well into the night of the fifth. It's surprising that no big fire got started on the fourth. It was quite explosive. Unlike most of my life, which is quite dull and monotonous. I could be positive and call it placid, but then I'd just have to find something else to be cranky about. After a certain age, crankiness is required, especially when one has missed one's nap. I am definitely past that age.
The dog across the bike path is barking now, which means it's morning, even though the sky is not as light as it was even two weeks ago. I'm not sad to see the days growing shorter this year. It indicates that summer will eventually end, and (one hopes) will take the heat with it. We'll get back to triple digits today, and the six days following. Oh, and Saturday night the predicted low is 79 degrees. The horror! This summer can't end soon enough.