(using an old story tell voice) I remember way back one year while the hills still had some green to them, they turn green you know with the spring rain. Well we had a veracious Santa Ana while scorching hot winds. We we lived in the slums of Camarillo at the time and we were surround by hills. Only about a quarter of the house had a swimming pool. You could tell there was a fire about by the moving heading into the hill to pack the rich folks. All the the horses leaving town. The smoke and the flames covering some of the hills also helped. Well there was the one hill that had mostly grass that was still green. We just stood there in awl and watched the hill change color as the fire approached. Green to yellow green to tan to flame to black. Ever since then I can not bear bare? to watch grass grown.
Not bad.
‘Minds me of the time I saw a horse fly.
There used to be a rounded mountain in the foothills where we lived as kids. Because of the shape of it, it was called “Mary’s Nipple.”
When I went home, the mound was still there, but the big pine tree that had formed the “nipple” had been burned in a fire a year before, so the entire mound was barren. Somehow, without the green, it looked just like a boob.
What a burn.