Fire journal 15, Wilson Hill Road, dragon’s eye sunset (photos)

 
Sunset, I’ve never seen such dark beauty, such a dark red sun balancing on the last ridge before the coast like a ruby drop of dragon’s blood. I had to darken the image to match the color of the sun. What the eye can see. What the camera can’t see. So strange to see the red flare on the eastern horizon matches the color of sunset. As if it were a simultaneous dawn. But the ravens aren’t fooled, they’ve gone to bed. I miss their dark presence, and their darker call. I’ve never used the word dark so many times in a single piece of writing. 

Hick’s Valley Road. It was so hot today, that my car overheated and I had to park and let it cool. Not easy to do when it’s hot as an anvil oven outside. My battery water levels were low which may have been part of the problem. But then I remembered that when the fanbelt broke, the car overheated, and I refilled radiator with a pint of water. So, not enough coolant, a hot day, a heavy load, AC running full blast, and my car said Wot? An added level of stress, as my cargo was a friend who was in hospital for two weeks. Driving home last night, I saw encampments of trucks and trailers, people sleeping by the side of the road.

I wonder how much more of this I can stand. But we need to stay vigilant for something called embercast.  Such a beautiful word for something that is so horrifying. Ashes and pine needles drifting on the wind still carrying the secret heart of the wildfire across the Santa Rosa Valley, landing on my parked car in Sebastopol. The fire’s across the valley. It hasn’t crested the ridge yet. When it enters the great Santa Rosa plain, then we really need to be worried. I’m sleeping with the window open a crack so that I can keep track of that distance of the fire.

The oppressiveness of the smoke/cloud ceiling is like the weight of the world, the compound prayer and carbon sorrow of trees unleashed in the skies. This is the color of my world. the fire that sheds no light.

I’m so tired. We must remain vigilant for each other. Multó love to you all. Calistoga is evacuating. I want to cry. Useless drought tears for those who’ve lost everything—tonight nearly 70,000 evacuees from Santa Rosa cannot sleep in their own beds. I want to weep but I needs must sleep.