Rambling and writing through life, without an itinerary.
Gee, Gully, twenty years ago I lived in a hand-built timber hippie-house tucked way up a bushy gully. In the winter, depending on the wind direction, the smell of woodsmoke meant that my distant neighbors across the creek were nice and warm that night, which was kind of nice. In the summer, the smell of woodsmoke meant stress, and if it was at night, it also meant staring at the surrounding ridges hoping not to see a glow anywhere.Hope that’s not the case for you.
So what was it? I'm hoping sunset, but FigMince has me wondering . . .