After the Rain

We've been shrouded in smoke for weeks. The forest fires in eastern Washington and all over Idaho turned the sky to grey, covered our lawn furniture with a layer of fine ash, and left our lungs hurting if we inhaled deeply. Every time the wind shifted, smoke blew into the Spokane valley and lay cozily in the bottom. Some days the smoke looked like fog hovering over the grass. Down by the Spokane River where I live, our beloved mountains to the north, south, and east were invisible.

Then came a wind storm, fierce for half an hour. We folded the patio umbrella to keep it from blowing away. Pine needles and pinecones flew. Small, dry branches rained down. Our summer furniture covered with new debris. The tall trees at the fenceline swayed in a menacing way. My fears of another crash through the roof were renewed.

Then it was quiet. A day later, rain. Blessed rain. The mountains shield us again, with just a hint of the earlier haze. The evening sun can break through the trees. And our sky - our glorious blue sky - became our roof once more.