The sky was on fire when I dropped into Warm Springs canyon. Islands of light hedged back the darkness of the sleeping valley and desert cliffs. The far ridges melted. I drew my focus from the center line and waited for memory to interpret the sight. It was past sunset hour and my eyes were hazy. But something familiar was happening.


Volcano? The searing borders glowed molten hot with drops of gold. They were of a beautiful kind of danger that moved cars to the shoulder to watch from the sloping grade. I slowed with anticipation to find a spot, but I was alone.


Concrete gravity pulled my car a little deeper into the valley floor and the image began to raise in monstrosity from my perspective. Silhouetted trees engulfed in flames jogged my memory. The orange was hot like it should be and smoke dampened the air of night. I rolled down my windows feel the winds generated with the storm that carried the warmth of a forest fire. 


The crest of orange singed the hillside as I wondered what other common dangers I had missed in their spontaneous glory. I have yet to see a real whale breech the surface of ocean as I've wanted or to lay under the Aurora Borealis. Things out of control. I wanted a picture but I knew the best details would be gone.


The night closed up all the gaps of light as I drove on from that moment. The fervor of nature was a pressing reminder. There is a God who is ruled by none.