Smoke, Smog, and Ash

Every day this week I've been feeling very thankful that my home is not threatened by the wildfires that are burning south and north of my little patch of L.A. I worry for the families stuck in the Qualcomm center and those whose homes are still standing but are dangerously close to encroaching flames.
Here in the South Bay, where I live, and in West L.A., where I work, we don't see any fire, but we see evidence of it everywhere. Each morning this week, I walk to my car and find it covered in delicate, white, papery ashes. The air is desert-dry, and the sky changes color all day: grey, white, taupe, blue, brown, orange. The smoke has been doing strange things to the sunlight here---kind of diffusing it and toning down its severity, like a lampshade does to a bare lightbulb. The effect is often very striking and beautiful, oddly enough.
On the other hand, the smog is thick, brown, and ugly. I'm looking at it right now from my ninth-floor office window. I worry for Maya, who is probably playing outside at school right this minute and breathing that stuff into her little lungs.
I've noticed I've been perpetually thirsty, and my eyes are very dry. I also find myself slathering lotion onto my hands all day long. I'm guessing this is a combination of the Santa Ana winds and the effect of the fires on the local climate.
It's unsettling to think that while I go about my business this week, driving to work, playing with Maya, cooking dinner, there are families just a few miles up and down the coast whose lives are being totally upended as they flee their communities. I'm keeping these people in my thoughts.