The morning had an eerie, post-apocalyptic look, leaden skies and a dense haze caused by smoke and ash blowing in from forest fires in Manitoba and Saskatchewan. An orangey red sun rose over the trees, a baleful start to the day.
Beau and I took our usual morning walk, but we didn't go as far as we usually do because of the abysmal air quality. There were ashes in the wind - we could smell them and taste them on the backs of our tongues. Breathing was difficult, and we decided shortening our ramble was a good idea.
As we pottered along, I thought about "after the fall" novels like The Road by Cormac McCarthy, The Postman by David Brin, and a long ago favorite (read in university), Walter Miller's classic A Canticle for Leibowitz. Given what is happening in the great wide world right now, perhaps such musings are not surprising.
It was good to come home. The usual watering and weeding chores were carried out when we returned to our roost, and we are indoors again, probably for the rest of the day. I have a good book and a mug of tea. Beau has his favorite stuffie.