It’s forest fire season in Oregon. Yellow smoke fills the valley. I can’t see the mountains, can’t see across the street. My neighbor says, Don’t worry, the fire’s still thirty miles away.

For weeks, my small town has been blighted by a thick, toxic smog. There’s a government advisory to remain indoors. Like everyone else, I’m going a little crazy. I decide to risk a walk. On Main Street, people are window-­shopping in particle masks. For a moment, I can almost pretend the smoke smells like bacon or toast. Really it smells like war.

“Contemplating the View…