New Clouds

There is a new type of cloud. At least here on the near plains east of the Rocky Mountains in August and September. At least new to me. It rises like a vague wall from the western horizon. The mountains are hidden behind this veil of cloud, even the faces of the front range only fifteen or twenty miles away. The cloud ascends as one mass up to where I would have to begin to lift my head to follow it up into the sky with my gaze. There it forms a bulbous, undulating edge, similar to that of a cumulus cloud but less defined and substantial. But the cloud also seems to leak out over everything within view. Haze might be the word for it, but that doesn’t quite provide an adequate description. It is more like a fine mist completely lacking in moisture. The sun even seems to be shy in the presence of such atmospheric conditions, though in light only. It has no reservations in providing the necessary heat to complete the sensation of living inside a wood-fired brick oven. This macabre seen is of course created by the wild fires in California and Oregon, perhaps augmented by some burning on the western slope of the Rockies and the creation of ozone from industry and automobiles. It has become relentless and predictable. Lately we hear less of how to prevent such fires, such clouds, such air. Rather we are searching for ways to mitigate the effects- air filters, less outdoor exercise, drive less. The orange of the sun as it descends through this cloud toward the horizon is intimidating, even while stunning in its beauty. There is a nearly imperceptible smell as well, that surely is recognized by the olfactory nerves and stimulates some subtle cascade of hormones signaling danger. Perhaps in the future such signals will be dulled down, perhaps will not reach the fight, flight or freeze responses. And perhaps, this will allow us more freedom to see one another as human, to attend to one another with compassion and the undeniable understanding of our interconnectedness. This summer, I was in New York City, playing frisbee in Prospect Park, and my eyes were burning from the smoke from California, thick as a Manhattan fog. As we awaken, the earth listens, hears, as do the angels, cherubim, seraphim, the clouds their bodies. Awaiting the attention of the humans, calling from the future.