Station Fire

For me, the smoke from the Station fires as it rose high into the sky and covered the Palmdale/Lancaster area in ashy darkness, was the most dramatic aspect of this fire. I have never before seen smoke so clearly defined as what I saw on Sunday, nor could I have ever guessed smoke could contain such color. It glowed red and purple and blue. For me, the smoke was alive, a giant monster that spread up and out until it consumed everything around me.

Take a moment to really look at these photos. In some you can see how tiny the mountains are compared to how enormous the pilars of smoke are. I've said it before in other posts but I cant help saying it again now, but it is just mind boggling to me to see this dramatic difference in size and then think about the tiny humans out there battling the blaze.

Alpha

First entry, just to get the ball rolling. Short and sweet.

When I was little, my family and I went camping all the time. Sometimes we'd go to the mountains and sometimes we'd go to a beach in Mexico, but usually we camped in the desert. For an adventurous girl of about five, the desert held many treasures. But none as special as the treasure I could make myself by throwing a plastic fork into the hot coals of a dying fire.

They would slither and twist, dance and spin. They drooped over my stick when I pulled them out of the coals. I watched them grow cold and hard in the cool, dry, desert air, a million stars looking over my shoulder. They became much harder than they were before I helped them become what they were really supposed to be and I imagined they were real. Some sort of plastic fairy with minds of their own and the ability to fly.

I kept all those forks for many years, my little treasure friends. I dont know where they are now but I imagine they are still together, dancing and laughing beneath the stars and telling tales of the toe headed girl who created them.