In 1816, there was this crazy volcano in Indonesia. It made for a dark and unnaturally cool European summer, and lots of people unknowingly and thus quite naturally feared the worst.
Lord Byron, who was going through his own dark shit, wrote this poem about it.
My hometown is covered in forest fire smoke right now (it was just moving in, in the picture above). The town is not in any immediate danger of burning, and in fact the fires responsible for this current ash-mask are pretty far away. But it has provided something like a constant reminder of how we’re all about an arm’s length away from oblivion.
My dad’s words last night, post-Byron.
“This evening, I went outside and the sun was low in the sky and glowing softly orange. Everything smells like someone forgot to open the damper on the fireplace. The dogs’ water bowl was full of ashes this morning. And we are over a hundred miles from the West Fork fire, which I read is at 53,000 acres.”
(Photo by Jonathan Drake)
They say if you don’t like the weather in Colorado to just hold on tight for a day or so and you’ll get something completely different. 82 degrees and sunshine to snowy and possible whiteout conditions in less than 48 hours technically doesn’t fit the cliche, but I’d take it if I were still there.