I know there is no sure-fire way to keep Malibu from catching on fire every year, so I just deal with the fall-out: ash on my car, smoke in the sky and a blood-red sun. But the thing that drives me crazy is the smell. No, not the actual smell of a fire raging across the mountains. And no, not the smell of the fire, as the hot, dry winds blowing the fire across the mountains and into the valleys around here. What drives me nuts is, now that the smoke is blowing in a different direction, everything smells like an ashtray: my car, the house, my clothes, my hair... it's like I'm dating someone who smokes. Echk!
(This photo was taken from a Flickr user's account. To see the whole set, click here.)