Fifty miles to the south, there were several days when the smoke turned the sky orange. It interacted with the marine layer in the mornings to create a thicky, smoggy overcast. When it cleared around noon, it was like sunset. The smoke settled to ground level, and streets disappeared in the distance. The smoke was acrid in the air.

It felt like Pompeii, fifty miles away from where the real suffering was going on. The ever-present smell of smoke and the orange light made it impossible to forget, for long, what was going on up there. We're used to wildfire in the west, but it used to be unthinkable for them to roar into town, force thousands to evacuate, and to kill people.

When you think of San Jose, you probably picture rows of ticky-tacky houses along treeless streets under a beating sun. The treeless part is wildly inaccurate--much of San Jose is so densely wooded it's officially classified urban forest. Along many streets around here, the treetop canopies interlock, and when the leaves get dry, it's scary. San Jose could have a forest fire one day.

What's happening up in the wine country has a spooky reality to me fifty miles away. It could happen here.