In the hills of California, there is a constant from year to year. As summer comes to a close and fall rears its head, filled with ideas of school, the fires start. Sometimes they happen earlier in the summer, but at fall, that’s when it’s just right. The smell of fire hangs on the air as the seasons begin to change, creating a wonderful environmental paradox that overwhelms the senses.

You may think I mean the smell of smoke, but this is something different. This is a heady, spicy smell, reminiscent of sandalwood incense I used to burn in my bedroom, a rebellious preteen. Every year these fires come, to witness the change that has occurred in the people of the heights. Every year it finds us different. I remember those smells from high school, when the air around my house was hazy with the residue from the flames nearby. When the k-5 school burned.

Once I found a perfume, in Hawaii, that captured that smell so perfectly it was almost a sin to wear. I felt like an elemental being.

It takes me home.