The moon looked like it had been dipped in blood tonight. It was rising beyond the eastern hills, a couple of days past full (it was full on Jen's birthday) and corn yellow. When I first spotted it between buildings, the bottom sixth of it was grimy red, like an ugly scrape. I found it strangely beautiful.
This effect was caused by a layer of smoke moving northward from a fire down in the Morgan Hill area. I heard later on the radio that people were being evacuated. As far as I know, it is still burning. It is strange to think that something that can add beauty to the moon is wreaking havoc a few miles away. I'm sure countless lives are being consumed. The fact that they aren't human lives doesn't make them any less important. Every life has an equal right to exist. Being human, it is natural for us to place more importance on the lives of our fellow humans than on other life forms, but we're just one species among many. Fire doesn't discriminate.
The whole thing could have been started by something as simple as a smoldering cigarette butt. Is it too hard to extinguish and properly dispose of the damn things? What kind of ignoramus throws a lit cigarette out a car window without a thought about the possible consequences? Do I even have to answer that one? I participated in a beach cleanup a number of years ago and the most common item collected was... you guessed it - cigarette butts. It's bad enough that people smoke the damn things without throwing them all over the place. I wish I'd kept those garbage bags full of cigarette butts. It would have been fun to mail them back to the tobacco companies. Better yet, we could sneak in and stuff their water coolers full of them.
There are laws that make other companies responsible for their hazardous materials from "cradle to grave". I can't think of many things more hazardous than tobacco. I'd like to see all of those damn executives out there on the beaches in their nice suits, picking up cigarette butts with their soft little hands. I can see it now: their comb-overs are hanging in their faces, their ties are dragging in the sand, and the veins are standing out in their foreheads.

How's that for a runaway train of thought?

cds I listened to out under the bloody moon: Light Rain "Dream Dancer", and Infernal Proteus compilation, discs 1 to 3 (the dandelion wine should arrive soon)

currently, as I finish up my mushroom juice: Townes Van Zandt "Texas Troubador" disc two.