Smoke from the fire burning in the canyon behind Pine Mountain Lake Airport. Do you see faces?

We all see faces in clouds, anthropomorphic bits of friendly, gleeful or maniacal puffery. This week my community is staring into the face of fire. The specter of the Rim Fire that burns in the river canyon to the east of our homes is big, aggressive, uncontained and grim.

Our prayers rise through the smoke; God seems to have adjusted the winds to urge the fire largely away from homes. Blessedly, there are no reported injuries among the over 700 firefighters battling the blaze from the air and on the ground.

I don’t think of this fire as evil. It is a stalking bear, but it hasn’t mauled people (yet). It is a looming presence that stings our eyes, chokes our breath, grips our hearts, occupies our minds, and depresses our spirits.

By now, I imagine we have all packed a few things, just in case. That is an interesting exercise that causes you to examine your relationship to stuff. Because we are an aging community, many of us have already had cause to reflect on the amount of stuff we have accumulated over the years.

I will admit that I have faced the clutter and said in my heart, “It would be easier to light a match to all this and walk away.” I will confess to a feeling of freedom as I rehearsed my goodbye to the contents of my house. I doused that thought quickly with a pail of “be careful what you wish for.”

Sorting out what to take hasn’t been difficult: The electronics, passports, a few days change of clothes, some art objects and jewelry, and a couple of mom’s photo albums; then bid a fond farewell to everything else and wonder if what you left will live in memory or haunt you.

One of the many wildfire theories is that it is nature’s way to deal with accumulation of brush that chokes out new life. We forest dwellers know the risk, but it is painful to lose a home or a livelihood. Pray for us.