There is one thing about Utah summers that never seems to fail: wildfire. During every year I can remember, the end of summer always involves smoke filled skies and red sunsets. I have seen many fires ravage the mountainside, lighting up like lava at night. I have witnessed first hand the helicopters dropping their bags of red dirt, trying to snuff out the flames. Though not all of the fires have been close to home, many of them are manifest in our skies, that faint burning in the air. It is terrible and tragic to see how quickly those green trees turn to black, but, deep down inside, there is a part of me that looks forward to those plumes of hazy smoke because the sunsets are incredible.
Littleman and I just recently enjoyed such a glowing end to the sun the other night. The air was calm, practically stagnant. Ash had been building along the west horizon for a couple of days. Then, all at once, as the sun hit the mountainside across the lake, the sky lit, the very crispest blue suddenly bursting with flame. We both watched with wonder and pointed, completely wrapped up in the beauty of it, while a helicopter flew overhead. A terrible kind of beauty it is.