Oh my gosh. What a couple of days. Yesterday I was terrified half the day, and in mourning the other half. During the day I stood out on the porch, my phone clutched in my nervous little fingers, talking to one neighbor then another, about the odds of our having to grab our most precious possessions (pictures of course) and run. The flames were leaping and dancing everywhere, right along the trail that was protecting us. We knew if they jumped to the other side we'd have to make a run for it. I told my kids about it at dinner, and my Nat says, "So that's what you do in an emergency, talk on the phone to the neighbors?"
Yeah. Duh.
Then last night after dark we all stood at the windows and watched the bright flames dancing along the hillside just above us. There aren't words for how ominious that was. The kids (and their texting friends) were afraid to go to sleep, for fear the flames would make their way down to us.
This morning Brandon looked out at the charred mountain, our mountain, and said, "I'm sad for all the animals. And I'm sad for the trees. And I'm sad for our mountain."
I know exactly how he felt. Later in the day I pulled into the neighborhood after doing errands and looked up at my beautiful mountain, such a familiar sight, all black and scarred, and blubblered like an idiot.
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