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Smoke Gets In Your Eyes
And in your throat and in your lungs …
I felt it when I woke up Sunday morning — a raspy feeling in my throat. “Oh no,” I thought, “Not a cold coming on!” It didn’t take long for me to realize that the sore throat was not an oncoming affliction but was due to the quality of the air. As I opened the front door to let the cats out, it hit me in the face — something was burning, and it was not too far away. I knew what it was. The nightly news had been reporting it for days; Big Sur was on fire.
As the crow flies, Big Sur is about a two-hour drive north of Morro Bay on one of the most scenic roads in the world. And while it isn’t really local, we who live here identify with it more than any other place. You could say Big Sur is just a dot on the map, but it isn’t even a town. It is an idea, an ideology, a sanctum, a place so foreign and yet so familiar that when standing in its space one feels like they have at last come home. Some would say heaven, but today it is hell.
When the fire started, it was located far up the mountain east of the road. How it began is a mystery. Lightning? Perhaps. Arson? God forbid. Unintentional accident? Maybe. People do camp in the wild areas. They named it the Timber Fire, a name to bring chills to those who have stood in awe beneath the giant Redwood trees. An unbearable loss.
