wildfires

One of the things I'll miss most when we leave California is the drastic temperature drop at night. Even when the temperature hits a hundred degrees during the day, mother nature gives us a gracious break with lows in the high fifties. This extreme daily deviation in temperature makes summer a bit more manageable, and most importantly, yields a delicious grape and a fine wine!  

Further, one of my favorite times of day during the summer is when the sun finally sets behind the western hills. We can pull up the shades and open the windows, let some of the evening breeze in to dissipate the lingering afternoon heat. There are still remnants of light in the sky, which contrast against the silhouette of the hills outside our kitchen window.

The days are getting shorter now. We are able to lift the blinds earlier and earlier. Summer is winding down, it has stayed its welcome, but quite frankly, I think it's time for it to go.

There were two wildfires that broke out in the hills by our home last week, both of them less than a couple miles away. We could see the angry flames, the black smoke lifting up from the dry grass, which is like kindling at this time of year. It hasn't rained in almost three months...not a even a cloud in the sky. The blonde slopes are charcoal black now. Summer, it seems, is not going to fade away quietly this year.

(photo credit: my friend, Emily, who lives a mile from where the fires burned, took these last two photos)

As I look at our schedule for the autumn, I'm excited for cooler temps and overcast skies, and yet I'm mindful of the insanity that awaits us. In attempts to make the most of our last year on the west coast, we have planned some fun adventures over the course of the next months--Vegas, Disneyland, Monterrey. By mid November, however, we are placing ourselves on "lock down," as we anticipate that we'll be gearing up for our big trip to China at some point this winter.  

So, despite my readiness for summer to disappear, I'm aware that our family is currently experiencing the calm before the storm. I'm relishing the simplicity of our days right now, even if the landscape is going up in smoke.  

These days are numbered and we will never get them back. This is true all of the time and for every person, but right now, I suppose I'm more in touch with the reality of it. 

Whenever a big change is on the horizon, I tend to walk around with a lucid awareness of the fragility of life. I can feel the minutes slipping through my fingertips. Just like the summer landscape, our family's sense of "normal" will go up in flames over the course of the next several months. I already feel the shifts taking place. I'm aware that Lucy will not be my baby for much longer, and as excited and thrilled as I am about the changes coming upon us, there is a part of me that's starting to grieve the slow disintegration of life as we now know it.