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July 24, 2019
The memory starts with gusts blowing through trees. The wind might bring a cool change to this heat but instead, I sense crackling and popping, sparks landing, of trees crashing and exploding in the distance. The storm approaches. Grit and sand hit the windows and doors in gusts. I smell smoke and know the wind is carrying a fire here.
I rest before it comes, and listen to the radio as I prepare to sleep, planning how I will stand and fight tomorrow. In my dreams, I see a wild animal, out of control, running blindly towards me, breathing fire.