The view from here

wildfires, a new poem, other miscellany

1.

The view from here is not good. For weeks we’ve had strange weather—far too dry for January, far too warm. Every time I open the car door, my finger zaps with static. My daughter’s hair sticks to the sides of her carseat like dandelion fluff. Our electrical currents live close to the surface.

As I write, I’m sitting on the deck under the old avocado tree, which appears to be dying (possibly already dead?). Lately I’ve been worrying over this tree like a sick child. Section by section, its leaves have withered and dropped until there is nothing green left on the branches. It was the heat spell of the summer, the plant expert told us, on top of not getting water after the house sold and before we moved in. On top of construction and debris piled on its roots. On top of, now, this crackling dry winter.

The weather has been eerie, what I imagine LA felt like before the devastation of the past few weeks. Everything snaps like tinder. San Diego has been spared major damage, with smaller wildfires here and there that are quickly contained. But on Thursday I went for a run and turned onto a street to see smoke plumes rising from a not-so-far away mountain. It looked like an active volcano. A neighbor driving by pulled over and together we watched the scene, the smoke billowing and building. She told me to download an app that allows you to track local fires and their spread. It was 20 acres at the time and 50 within an hour. After another hour it had grown to 150 acres, and by evening it had reached 600. When the sky darkened, I could see the orange veins of flame from our front yard. By morning, over 4,000 acres had burned.

20 acres worth of smoke

I was reminded of the time my family evacuated during a wildfire when I was in high school. Driving to our friends’ house, we had to pass close to the fire’s border. I remember the heat on my arm as I rolled down the window, the rushing sound, all the color. It was the first time wildfires impacted me that closely, the first time I understood their devastating power, the first time I felt struck by their awful beauty. This was back when Southern California had a fire season, late summer through the fall. But now fires burn year round. And they’ll continue to burn more and more as our climate changes and warms. “Yet again, climate change is no longer a future issue – it’s here and now, putting us all at risk,” writes

Katharine Hayhoe

in her excellent newsletter.

2.

Usually I write essays, but sometimes poetry feels like a better container. I’m grateful to

Literary Mama

for including my poem about birth in their latest issue. Here ‘tis:

L&D

Maybe it’s a medical event
or maybe
it’s the passage you swim
between this world and the next

untether from the land of the living
brush the boundaries of death
sink deep in dark waters
and then return
with someone to show for it.

You tell me:
did this passage feel routine?
Or did it feel like dying?
Like a medical event?
Or like a cataclysm—
quaking with your own tides,
drowning in your own sea,
turning inside out before
you emerged
gasping and stunned
and new.

(ICYMI: another poem, “Four Months Postpartum.”)

3.

There’s no shortage of coverage about the new Trump administration, but here are three essays that I’ve thought about with appreciation throughout the week.

First, my friend

Rebecca Randall

writes about being an adoptee of color and Trump’s promise to end birthright citizenship.

Second, wise friend and Episcopal priest

Amy Peterson

asks what it means for each of us to speak on behalf of those who can’t speak right now.

And lastly,

Sara Billups

reflects on the work and requirements of mercy. I’ve always loved the word mercy and its association with the womb (enough to give it my daughter as her middle name, in fact)—so this bit felt especially resonant:

“Raḥam, the word for mercy, is related to the word for womb in Hebrew. I watched Budde speak and wondered: Why does mercy get no respect? Why does mercy evoke jaded annoyance? Why is mercy treated with contempt? Why does care, still, in 2025, read as a feminine virtue?

This administration represents a kind of masculinity that treats mercy with disdain and as a weakness. Especially when the message is delivered by a woman.”

4.

And lastly, a pop of color. My friend Stephanie designed some new logos for this space. Look at them! Aren’t they fun? (Go hire Steph for all your design & illustration needs.) Which should I choose? Vote A or B in the comments, please and thank you.

Read With Me, options A and B

Grateful you’re here,

Annie