It’s not just the smoke any more, billowing out from the notch. Now the fire has climbed up and over the last ridge, preparing to make its descent into town. Airplanes drop their payloads of slurry at the leading edge, but it looks like they’d need a hundred times as many planes to stop the advance as one by one the tall evergreens turn bright orange. The thunder offers false hope, signaling not rain but dry lightning that sparks even more blazes. Neighbors, their cars loaded with whatever they hold most dear, water their lawns, their trees, their roofs. Even the police have pulled their squad cars over to the side of the road, just watching and waiting like everyone else.
27 June 2012