The world is on fire. The sky is full of smoke. It smells like ash and dust and I'm sitting here in boxer shorts and a wife beater, melting from the heat, waiting for a phone call from my mother to call me back home. Because he's still hanging on and it's weird to be home when this doesn't feel like it right now.
So I wait...
I wait for the smoke to clear. And the ash to settle. I wait to hear that our favorite park hasn't all been lost in the fire-- our favorite playground. I wait for the days to cool and the air-conditioner to work again so Archer will nap instead of pulling all the buds off the orchid like he did today and how I cried because I feel like everything is out of my control and the flames are coming to take me away. I can see them creep down the hill as the smoke billows down upon us and the petals are all over the floor.
And I'm waiting for this stupid sore throat to be gone and this damn migraine and the pile of to-do's that I wish would just blow away and burn up with rest of the world. And I hate waiting. I hate waiting and losing people I love and being hot and how the world is on fire.
But I keep waiting. Because sometimes that's all we can do. Wait. For clearer skies. For a whole new forecast. For the fire to burn its way out and the wind to cool. So things can go somewhat back to normal.