The past 20 years, horrific wildfires seem to have become the rule rather than the exception in the United States. My home state of Washington has lost hundreds of thousands of acres to fires. I live in a valley. During fire season, smoke often floods our valley and is gets trapped by our surrounding hills. One recent fire season, smoked poured in from fires as far away as California and Canada, as well as from other parts of Washington. The air was poisoned for weeks and sparked this poem, which appeared in my book The Wind and the Shadows.
Wildfires Wildfires to the north, south, and west.... The world is full of second-hand smoke. Ash drifts on the wind, a specter of the cremated landscapes. The sun is bloodshot and glares in the fuming skies unable to blink.
A Wandering Minstrel 