WALK #22

This is a story of how color becomes trauma. I was walking along the edge of a vineyard and saw this gorgeous large bush of orange flowers in bloom. I should have been joyous at the sight--they were/are lovely! But what I focused on was the color orange. That color brought me back to 2020's Glass Fire and how its wildfires made me and my family what we are today: fire evacuees. It was about 3 a.m. and we were in bed. I smelled something burning and assumed I was dreaming. But then, through the open bedroom windows, I heard the sound of wind--fierce winds have been part of the cause of swiftly-spreading mega fires. I thought, "Hmmm. The combination of a burning smell and wind is not a good combination!" I then opened my eyes. The view outside the window was mostly black, befitting night. But I also saw thumb-size specks of orange--a color that I knew did not belong against that night sky. I sat up, swiftly recognized them as embers, spoke "Fire!" loud enough to wake my husband, and the nightmare of fleeing the house began. That moment began what still was the scariest hour of my life, trying to rustle the six animals into cars to leave the mountain when we didn't know if the roads were safe for our passage. So this walk, nearly two years later, prove how I still bear the fire's trauma, such that I saw these flowers and could not see their Beauty but only damage. I believe I lost something in Glass Fire that I know is larger than our property on the mountain.

As an aside, a close-up view actually hearkens the backdrop to Kehinde Wiley's portrait of President Obama:

[untitled]

Trauma as color

first evokes

fire