The winds lessened as I drove south for work. The sun glowed blood-red beneath the smoke. Devastation moved as quickly as fire.
The first fire, the Palisades, started on January 7 at 10.30 am. And yet I went to sleep relatively easily that evening, no go bag packed.
The National Weather Service had warned us for days. Unusually high winds and extremely dry conditions meant the risk of fire was especially high.
Entire lifetimes vanished in seconds. The day began to feel increasingly apocalyptic, each hour begetting more chaos.
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