In a lovely piece of cynicism, my mind looked at the map of Oregon’s wildfires today and the smoky blue sky outside and began channeling Boston’s “Smokin'” from 1976.

I don’t know how I became so cynical. Of course, my mother is cynical, as is my father, so it could be in my genes. Or it could be from all those protests during my formative years in the 1960s, or the corrupting influence of rock and roll. Maybe it was all the reading I did when I was a child, or how the stars were aligned when I was born or conceived, or my years of government service.

I don’t know. Let’s just enjoy the music.