A MESSAGE FROM CANADA, APPARENTLY THE NEW MANAGEMENT OF THE SKY
Dear Mr Trump,
We hear you  and some of your people would like Canada to stop sending wildfire smoke across the border.
We have reviewed your complaint and immediately forwarded it to the Department of Wind, Clouds and Uncooperative Weather.
Unfortunately, nobody there answers the phone.
For the record, Canada does not have a giant red button marked:
SEND SMOKE SOUTH
There is no Mountie standing in a control room studying a weather map and saying:
“Chicago looks a little too comfortable today. Open the northern vents.”
Wildfires are disasters, not exports.
The smoke is not wrapped in maple leaves. It does not arrive carrying a passport, a hockey stick and a coupon for poutine.
It moves wherever the wind carries it, because the atmosphere has stubbornly refused to recognize the international border.
And when fires rage in the United States, Canadians do not stand at the border with folded arms and a measuring tape.
We send crews.
We send aircraft.
We send equipment.
We send people willing to walk into danger for neighbours they may never meet.
Not because the fire is American.
Not because the smoke is Canadian.
Because people are in trouble.
That is how neighbours are supposed to act.
So perhaps the enemy is not the country north of you.
Perhaps it is the heat, the drought, the lightning, the wind and the enormous wall of flame consuming everything in its path.
We would gladly keep the smoke at home.
We would also like winter to end in February, mosquitoes to respect personal space, and Canada geese to stop behaving like they own every parking lot on the continent.
Some things are simply beyond human control.
Until then, Canada will continue doing what it has always done:
Helping when we can.
Showing up when it matters.
And quietly wondering how the nation that put people on the moon thinks we are steering the wind with a hockey stick.
Sincerely,
🇨🇦 Canada
Your neighbour.
Your ally.
Your emergency contact.
And, according to the internet, the country responsible for weather.
P.S. The geese deny everything.