If ever there was an in-your-face reminder that we’re all connected through the world around us, I only need to look up to see it. Gray skies—and not the “it’s going to rain” kind—lend an eerie feel to the day.  The sun is up there somewhere, oddly illuminating the haze.  And there are clouds moving along in the wind, all enveloped in a not-quite-right grayness. 

The cause of these gray skies has little to do with nature except as a gift of the prevailing winds and wildfires in Canada. Looking at a map on the news, it appears so much of the country is on fire. It’s a tragedy for everyone whose lives those fires touch. I can’t help but look out the window at the woods that surround my home and be thankful what is happening there is not happening here. And yet it has reached my home, if only temporarily.

Here at home, it’s disconcerting to see gray skies that aren’t quite the gray of gloomy days or impending storms. There’s a wrongness there that brings me back to years past when I thanked my lucky stars for being born in the Berkshires and not those places (like New York and LA) where smog clogged the skies and air quality held steady at poor. Whether it’s smog or smoke, the air quality suffers, and we are all affected.

I thought those days were gone. Environmental laws were passed, and the air in cities improved. The air quality here is still better—except for this not so subtle reminder how quickly things can change. And they will. Here. The blue skies will return, and when it rains the gray will be the hue it should be.

For now, I busy myself at my keyboard. I write. I work on a quilt or a sketch. I meet friends for some inside socialization. And I look forward to the return of blue skies and sunsets that make me want to grab a paintbrush.