Between Cortez, Colorado and Gallup, New Mexico on that stretch of road where you can see the 110 degree heat shimmering above miles of desolate flat desert, we saw a long line of flames, burning a mile or so in the distance, parallel to the highway. He pulled over and took out his camera.

While he set up the tripod, I sat beside the car and watched.
Remembering that fire in the East Bay Hills.
The sky had been black in Berkeley for three or four days.
Ashes hung in the air outside my window while on the television screen, I watched the flames devour the houses on the Road where my boss lived. As the local news suggested, I had packed things into the car in case I had to evacuate -- blankets, some food, my tent, cat food, slides of my art work, photographs of my family, and all my back-up disks.

It was hot on the dry grass beside the Southwestern desert highway. The air smelled like it does in the vicinity of the chemical factories on the river in West Virginia where my ex-husband's family live. I was uneasy, aware that it would take at least twenty minutes to complete the time lapse photographs.



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