Blinds

If it weren’t for the constant hum of the helicopters overhead—and the memory of being evacuated, spending the night at the beach, and watching houses and hillsides burn within half a mile of my house—I wouldn’t have a clue that there was a fire raging in the foothills.

I am intently focused on the sound that my blinds make as the dry, hot, Santa Ana winds blow through.

Copyright © 2008 Liz Kuball