fire

A few weeks ago I attended a workshop on Climate and Forests in Flagstaff, AZ. The field trip before the start of the workshop took us to areas of aspen decline, pinyon mortality, and other landscapes devastated by recent fires. On the second day, speakers from the forest industry gave interesting presentations about what they saw was the future of their trade: Carbon credits for growing young trees and revenue from wood sold as a renewable source of energy.

Dragon legends play a powerful role in mountain folklore. In European tales of yore, a dragon often dwells in a remote lair, which is nestled deep in a timbered and rugged landscape that towers high and secluded above town. However, when provoked, the dragon uses its power to fire scorch the lands below his domain, consuming everything that dare cross his path.

On Monday, the dragon that sleeps in the mountains above my town of Boulder, Colorado awoke with a vengeance. Most days, even most years, he sleeps peacefully and lets us live, play and love in the thickly wooded mountains that ground our place in space and time. However, officials confirmed this morning that he ravaged at least 95 structures, consumed more than 7,000 acres and is still uncontained.