We hit the main road to find Weaverville had become a war zone. I know what actual war zones look like, I spent a few years of my childhood living in one. You might say the event brought back memories, not the kind you go out of your way to remember. Anyway, on our way out of town we past an endless stream of busses, carrying people, female and male, Muslim, Budist, Christian and Jew, to fight this mighty foe. A grand sight.
Petty differences have no meaning when so much is at stake.
I'm writing this on Thursday. Two days after the fire. The town is quiet again. The sounds of aircraft in the distance and hint of smoke in the air are all that's left of the fire. Loved ones have gathered to help those who lost their homes and we enter the time of healing.