The evening before we were evacuated. I remember sleeping surprisingly well that night, only to be woken by a sudden blackout and sirens at 3:30am. It was time to leave.
A trampoline and balls dusted in ash. The light was hazed by a pale orange glow. Ash was falling like snow all day. I've never experienced anything like it. Our beloved mountains were on fire.
Tony exiting the door of our first refuge. It was a small studio, occasionally occupied by one person. They had a fascinating book and record collection, and to my delight, they were also a lover of plants.
A palm immersed in a smokey sky. A palm whose composure echoed my feelings of sadness and confusion. Reaching and grieving at once, we push on, gasping for breath.
Japhy, alone and confused in the car. We were heading into our first night away from home and cats were not welcome inside. I remember feeling helpless that night, vowing to never allow such a thing to happen again.
Our first sunset in the shipyard. We were invited to stay in a warehouse by the harbor that had not been used for several months. Our pets were welcome and our spirits had lifted. It suddenly felt more possible to wait and to watch.