The Sand Fire. So far.
Flames on mountain ridges. A horse trailer parade, the cargo whinnying and stomping. Sirens. Flap-flap-flap-copters again-flap-flap-flap. Most urgent needs shouted out above the communications center buzzing beehive. 50% of the Wildlife Waystation animals are out. Anyone have a coyote-sized crate? The bison were sedated? Let loose? Who has steel cages? Where did these lost pit bulls come from? The cattle are too heavy for horse trailers. http://4.nbcla.com/3H2PLQv The Waystation animals are out, what about the 100 polo ponies?
And then there's a conflagration of another kind, a slow burn that feels like dread. For decades the disenchanted, disenfranchised, have fumed. Inward heat burning hotter and hotter fueled by frequent ultra public examples that justice isn't fair, nothing changes, the playing field isn't level. Now, this Presidential election year, a firestorm of fury burst wide open and Donald Trump erupted, fanning the blazes with hate speech, dropping matches dripping in all kinds of vile. The fabric that holds America together is on fire.
The 4-alarm is ringing. Our land of opportunity is becoming a no hope, have/have not America.
Before smoke and mirrors block out the sun.