We saw the storm on the radar. It looked promising at first. Big splotches of red surrounded by green. Maybe it was even going to come over us?

The red faded. Green means nothing more than that there is a cloud. It likes to tease us with promises of rain never kept. Not a drop fell here.

This morning fires were the top subject of all local news. In the hills, in the trees, not near far enough away from us.

I left this morning to take advantage of cooler weather and get some fence checked. There’s not much for grass out there, but it might make a month or twos grazing. Turning out of the drive I saw the plume of smoke. As the wind shifted about the air was heavy with the scent. Tree smoke and grass smoke have very different smells. Something I would rather not know personally.

At the pasture the light shone yellow. Shadows were brown not grey. I worried about driving the old pickup through the grass to check the fence. Her lack of a catalytic converter always comforts me. But in reality, there wasn’t enough grass there to reach a muffler. Either way we made it around that part of the fence without starting any new fires.

The green grass is barely there. Cheat grass has gone to seed at an inch or so tall. The weeds are shriveling and dying already. I drove right through the creek bottom where it is usually swampy and wet. It makes getting across the pasture easier, but isn’t worth the cost.

There’s another chance of rain Sunday. It gets to where you almost dread it because storms mean lightening. Lightening means more fire. At least as things stand now we have some old grass from last year to graze.