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Running From Wildfire
Los Angeles is burning
At this very moment, Los Angeles is burning.
The Santa Ana winds shriek outside, blowing patio furniture across broken tiles. Nothing good ever comes from these windstorms; California is so dry that it can’t even cry. Not even a misty lone teardrop to leave dew upon our brush.
Wildfires strike a chord, reverberating under my skin. Taking me back to the Woolsey Fire of 2018.
I lived in Agoura Hills, in a small canyon abutting the Calabasas border, framed by the Santa Monica Mountains and Malibu Creek State Park. Windows rattled from the wind, the sky a dark greyish-orange, and the familiar scent of smoke in the distance — a smell I’d experienced many times before.
The fire broke out near Simi Valley and headed south.
Fires in our area were nothing new. But this one was different. I was riveted by the local breaking news reports as the fire crept through each neighboring town. When it hit Thousand Oaks, we began to worry. But, still, you don’t think it will happen to you. I lived on the other side of the 101 Freeway. The fire can’t jump the freeway, right?
I called my ex-husband, who lived down the street. “Don’t worry,” he said when I asked if we should evacuate. Evacuations weren’t…
