|At the base of the stage at today's memorial|
Are you in danger, asked Carol... if so, come here and stay. My quick response was no, of course not. The wildfire fire was thirty miles south. And yet, I pondered, of course I was. We all were. Psychic danger. Spiritual danger. Nineteen Granite Mountain Hotshots gone, taken in a firestorm of heat on the front lines of Yarnell Hill. Nineteen of the world's finest men, the average age 27, gone as fast as the lightning bolt that struck the earth.
|From the Fire Station Memorial|
"Look into their eyes," pleaded Joe Biden at today's memorial. "Look into their eyes" and you'll see what kind of men these were. Poet. Mountain climber. Snowboarder. River rafter. Father. Husband. Mountain biker. Some adorned in tattoos, all with smiles that carved their way to the heart; eyes that sparkled in passion.
I slowly pulled up to home and sat quietly in my truck. Don McClean's song, American Pie sprang from the radio, the nonsensical lyrics, the perfect accompaniment to the mix of feelings that washed through my body. McClean's opus was a poetic tribute to Buddy Holly, whose death greatly affected him.
|"Enlightened Anguish" 6-30-13, an original on the memorial fence|