Smoke

It fills the air. And my lungs. There is no escape – even though I am a hundred and fifty miles away from the burning. The smoke drifts in my direction on the wind that flows down from the northeast. It’s not bad enough to run away. Even if I could, I’m not sure that I would. It would take much more for me to leave here. Instead I wear a mask. It makes my face sweat and when it’s not properly sealed my breath steams up my glasses so that I can’t see where I’m walking.

Smoke

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