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Oh My God Blue
Lolling and bobbing down the coast towards Stinson Beach, David and I are trolling for salmon and savoring a late summer morning. I inhale deeply — the air is a delicious cocktail of ocean vapor stirred with summer heat, with a whiff of beach grass around the edges. And no smoke….
I did it! I escaped.
The boat is on autopilot and there are two rods with sardine-baited lines trailing in our wake. David and I are lounging in reclining chairs, feet propped up on the engine cover like two vacationers on a cruise ship.
In the half-dozen times David has taken me out, I’ve never caught a salmon, my favorite food to grill in the summer. Today doesn’t look like it’s going to be the exception; there are few boats out and little fish chatter on the radio. I could care less.
It has been an insane summer: the daily carpet-bombing of pandemic and political news, record-setting heatwaves, and most recently, hourly alerts about the wildfires ravaging California and getting closer to my home. For the past week, throat-burning smoke from fires to the north and west have blanketed my townhouse, and a smoldering patch of anxiety and despair began to burn inside me.
On Friday, the smoke lifted a bit and I could almost see the sun. On a whim, I called David. The next morning, I was on my way to clearer skies.
