The moon is waxing gibbous,
And tinted orange by smoke.
I'd like to share a picture,
But my camera is a joke.
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Hey we got a nice evocative poem out of you instead which is just as good XD Stay safe and all.
Though gibbous, the cycle now wanes,
I repeat my lamenting refrians.
The smoke makes it yellow,
And that jolly fellow,
The man in the moon, he complains.
Limericks are not my forté.
It smells like campfire outside, and not in a good way. The worst of the smoke is blowing north of me. I plan to make sure as much as possible is packed for an evacuation. Some friends of mine were too close for comfort to a small blaze yesterday
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