I feel lucky that I’m not affected by the wildfires in Southern California, but even without all the local news coverage I can tell that they’re really, really bad this year.

For one reason, the warm, dry wind is relentless. It’s very normal for this time of year; the hot air that rises from the desert swoops down over the mountains and blows hot across the southland. But it’s very strong this year, with winds gusting to hurricane forces, about 75 miles per hour or more in some cases.

…winds so strong, they knocked down this tree last night before H.E. and I went out to dinner:

…winds so strong, they never died down after dusk, as they usually do; they kept blowing and howling and rattling my windows with an ominous fury … all night without end.

They’re not as strong today, but they’re still there.

Second, the humidity is very low, which when coupled with the winds is bad for the wildfire situation, and I can sense just how dry it is by how parched I am and how my skin itches. I had a bottle of water by my side all night, and I kept drinking from it—this, after drinking an endless amount during dinner—and I couldn’t slake my thirst; instead, I had to keep getting up to go to the bathroom, and later to the kitchen to replace my water bottle with a new one.

Somehow, the low humidity is wreaking havoc on my sinuses—I don’t know how, and I don’t know why; it’s usually the wet and rainy weather that messes with my head space. Now, my thirst and the extreme dryness gives me a piercing headache.

And in the morning, I was roused by a loud cracking and crashing sound just outside my window, a noisy Whomp! accompanied by the crackling of crushed dried leaves. I could tell without looking that it was the heavy limbs of another tree, but I looked outside my window anyway, and there it was:

When I went outside to take these pictures, I could smell a faraway bonfire scent. Of course, I knew it wasn’t really a bonfire, but with where I am compared to where the fires are, the scent seems so benign. Some years ago, at the place where I lived before this one, I was far downwind of a big wildfire, and the sky was red, smoky dark like hell or Mars. Even the light pouring through my window between the blinds was reddish in tone, as though the sun were a bulb in rose-colored glass. And outside, it snowed fairy light ashes, so gray and delicate as they floated down, so thick in the air that they eventually covered every surface. It was like breathing in dry dust, so we stayed indoors, the smell of smoke too unbearable.

Not at all like that where I am this time.

So yes, I feel lucky. I’m not near the fires, and so far, I’m not downwind of one. But I can tell it’s really bad this year. I can feel it in the dry and windy air, in my thirst and itchy skin.

11:30pm Update: More wildfires, and now I’m worried about my family in San Diego. I wish I knew how to rain dance!

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