Fire on the Mountain

The plume of smoke of a 'new' fire is distinctive because it is beautiful. Unless the fire has eaten or is eating a home or vehicle, it is white. If it has consumed something other than vegetation it carries a blackness at its base that infects the whole tower. Here in the mountains, it is easy to mistake a fire plume for a welcome thunderhead-- that is unless you have learned the difference.

The difference being an inherent greediness on the part of the smoke tower, which has also mimiced a mushroom cloud. There is a sense of entitlement and undisciplined growth to the smoke. The thunderhead can roil, but intent is sensed to be urgent carrying out of duty.

After the thunderhead the sage, buckwheat, and other plantlife give praise and thanks by sending up their aromas in heady, musky, and invigorating wafts.

During a fire areas not even remotely involved suffer and choke and have eyes feeling made of sand for weeks following and the smell is distinctively that of destruction. Of dead things that had no chance to say good bye, of new things that had no chance to live a life, and of all the bad memories you ever had coming back to haunt you.

For my friends that may be reading this, we are fine, The Dude is fine (cat), and with some difficulty, I made it home last night.

There was a great deal of doubt as to whether that would be possible, but where there is a Badger -- there is a way :).