It would happen. The year that I move to Colorado has to be a crazy year. The winter is unusually warm, my aunt breaks three ribs, and as of this past Saturday, the mountains are on fire.
From the last time I checked the news (about an hour ago), over 5000 acres have burned, 3500 people have been evacuated, 70 homes have burned, and a local landmark, the Flying W Ranch, is completely gone. They’ve closed down the Garden of the Gods and have the fire 5% contained. It’s been dubbed the Waldo Canyon Fire and is thought to be an act of arson. Though I don’t think the fire will reach us, being able to see the flames from my work isn’t reassuring. I’ve gathered the important documents, packed my emergency bag, and am currently playing the waiting game, along with the rest of Colorado Springs.
With the waiting game comes plenty of time to contemplate, and contemplating made me realize that I wasn’t writing enough. What a silly thing to think as the fire rages on and thousands of lives are affected: I should write more and what a shame I can’t take my books with me. I feel like Nero playing the fiddle while Rome burns. (And though our fire might be a bit less epic than the Roman Empire burning, I like to think that it’s still relevant.)
It also probably doesn’t help that I recently saw Seeking a Friend for the End of the World, with Steve Carell and Kiera Knightly, where they have three weeks left on Earth before a meteor crashes into it. True, it’s not the end of the world (that I know of), but it makes me think what I should actually be doing with my time and of course, I come back to the ludicrous and most obvious conclusion: I should write more. Whether that makes me odd or honest or a bit of both, matters not; the mountains are burning and it’s time I took notice.