Perspective

Plumes of smoke billow above the foothills, just a mere ten miles from my house in Fort Collins.  Biking home from class yesterday afternoon, my eyes fixated on the plume.  Feelings of deja vu surfaced, bringing me back to the fire this past summer that destroyed my parent's home along with hundreds of others.

Feelings of uncertainty, unease and empathy all rolled into one mark the state of my being upon seeing this all too familiar sight.  My heart and thoughts intertwine with the evacuees', connected to them by similar, shared experience.  I not only feel linked through the feelings of dismay at the grave state of the ever-growing inferno but through the shared uncertainty among those whose homes are at risk.

The Galena Fire started around noon yesterday and the pace of its destructive path has been quickening every hour.  I could see the flames last night from my house, hauntingly flickering on the foothills.  Today, the flames have soothed to a cascading smoke, covering the sky in a milky haze.

After the Waldo Canyon fire this past summer, I knew I would never be able to look at a plume of smoke the same again.  The reality of this fact set in when I witnessed the billowing plume yesterday afternoon, instantaneously precipitating the unease that set deep inside my gut.

My heart in all its capacity goes out to those who have been directly affected, forced to leave their homes and wait, hoping for good news but preparing for the worst.  I can not only relate as a fire victim myself but as a part of this community, this state who has single-handedly witnessed the destruction these fires can cause, powerless to stop the course of nature.

My state of emotions has been up and down, alternating between fear and unease to empathy for the direct victims, to anger and finally to acceptance of the reality of the situation.  Upon hearing word of the fire in class yesterday, my mood shifted to fear and unease.

Distracted by the latest news, I tuned the professor out lost in thought until he made a snarky comment.  In all his ignorance, he made light of the situation, laughing it off as a little "second-hand smoke", not fully knowing the effect his comment would have.  I immediately felt anger boiling up at the fact that he was making light of such volatile circumstances.  He had absolutely no idea that people's homes were at risk, probably due to the little to no effect this fire would have on him personally.

Eventually recognizing the anger for what it was, simply a reaction to someone's ignorance, I now shift again to attempt to cope with the reality of the situation.  We all know that fire, natural or not, is going to run its course no matter the extent of human intervention.  We can attempt to do all we can to prevent as much devastation as possible, but when it comes down to it, Mother Nature is going to run her course, regardless of our pleas.

Fire, unrelenting and unforgiving, adds a certain amount of perspective for indirect and direct victims alike.  Though it initially stirs up fear and unease, accompanied by anger and sadness for the loss of land, it instantaneously sheds light on the important things in life.  When news of the fire reached, I went from worrying about petty things, like worrying about the grade I got on my exams and obsessing about the food to worrying about the fate of the fire and its victims.

Since witnessing the destruction a fire can cause, I can relate to the feeling of not being able to wrap your mind around the gravity of the situation.  When a fire breaks out, all bets are off and all petty worries get placed on the back-burner.  It is at times like these when we all realize what really matters in life, not the silly obsessive thoughts, or worry about the past or the future, but about the love and growth and hope that is always there.

When death beckons, whether death of vegetation, a friend, or in the symbolic sense of death as a marker of change, it marks the inevitable shift into the new.  Though we may not always welcome the new, because it is more often than not marked by an ending of something, within time, our perspective shifts to that of acceptance.

But as much as I would like to say I am at the point of acceptance, I know realistically I am not.  I am still harboring unease, fear and some leftover anger over the state of things.  All the meanwhile, my heart pours out to the evacuees, and I mourn deeply for the loss of our beautiful land, hoping and praying that nature will run its course, with a sparing and merciful hand.