Catching up … part one
On the telephone with my friend/guitarist Dan, out on the back porch with the dogs, I was annoyed at the amount of volume I had to execute in order for him to hear me while the sirens of many an emergency vehicle as well as the increasingly disturbing and intense popping grew louder so I told him that I would have to call him back, hung up, walk five steps out to the end of our porch and gazed south, where I was frozen in delicious horror and sickening awe that downtown Denver was on fire, under attack, being destroyed; I knocked on the back door and urgently beckoned Joyce to join me as I stared at the fire in the sky.
The blaze was one block away from my house.
“Those new condominiums,” Joyce has always had a better eye than me for the extremely obvious.
“Oh,” I was out the door, camera in hand and Joyce along side me as we viewed the phenomenal fire amidst the arctic evening sky and Colorado winter wind. It was the most incredible phenomenon I had ever witnessed.
I was sure it would spread to our new digs. God. Damn it.
“Rats!” Joyce ran back to the house to start packing but I apparently did not, as I wandered closer and tripped over the fire hose at the end of the block and people and cars stopped and whoa-ed all around me, helicopters dumped fire-retardant and fire fighters fought on all sides and from the air in cranes, news reporters were all around, and the fire just roared.
by wendy clark hudson