At a La Quinta somewhere in the sprawl of Denver. I know for a fact that I am near the Ft. Logan National Cemetery- the GPS in the rented Cadillac told me that as it directed my through the afternoon snarl of traffic around the downtown, though I could not tell you with any precision the route.

I could tell you something about brake-lights, though, which is the consistent narrative of life in our urban concentrations, east west or middle.

The smoke from the fires down south concealed the mountains, and cloaked the proud towers of the downtown with a mildly acrid odor.

The wildfire in Black Forest is uncontained and burning free. Part of the no-go line is the I-25 itself.

I hooked up with my brother Spike at the motel, which was a nice enough place with a friendly staff, but in an area that looked like it had been put on hold in 2008 and is hanging on, hoping for better things. I went through my bags to see what might not have survived the Friendly Skies.

The TSA goons had been through my duffle and inspected the bookends I brought out in my checked luggage, leaving them taped up in a demonstration of efficiency. It will not surprise you that the crime-scene tape they left behind on the inanimate things made me feel neither more not less safe, only grateful that the agents had not broken them. I did not feel safer.

With directions from the front desk, we found a liquor store, and all is right with the world. We caught up on the minutia of the family, and discovered that nothing was on the menu for that night, so we went out and found a quiet Thai place for a spicy dinner and then a plan for an early evening.

Spike’s body clock is an hour early here and mine is two hours late. The deep rich night as the day’s heat radiated into the heavens was only broken by the sound of diesel engines on Route 85 out the window, and darkness was thus longer and shorter than it might have been otherwise, but the bed was comfortable.

Much more comfortable than it was for the 100-odd homes that went up in the blaze to the south, or the ten thousand who were relocated out of harm’s way. There are many horses and livestock who are not so lucky. This fire thing is a cruel business.

When we drove back to the hotel the haze had diminished and we could actually see the Front Range looming, so I had hope that the wind was dying and the aviation assets from Fort Carson were going to be able to help the firefighters.

The La Quinta breakfast buffet, when it finally came around, was not an impressive affair. No scrambled eggs or decent protein on the complementary crappy buffet and watery coffee.

Hence, that is how we found ourselves driving around too early looking for a decent jolt of high-test java.

We talked about the stock market, investments, and kids. And a little about the nature life and death, that being the business we were gathered in Denver to address.

I do not recall a single word about the Great Events happening inside the Beltway as we ventured out this morning to find a Starbucks in a strip mall studded with vacancies. It is like that stuff falls away, effortlessly, in the real world where “fire” means precisely what it means: not a metaphorical “smoking gun” in the affairs of the Republic, but the real and present scourge of the goddess.

Suitably caffeinated, we started to make preparations to attend the funeral service over at the Ft. Logan Cemetery where the family will inter our cousin, father, spouse and brother later this morning.

He was an Air Force vet from long ago, and wanted to be in the Nation’s sacred ground. We are here to honor that wish, and to celebrate the bonds of family. I will be checking the course of the fire as I can.

There are some things that are just too powerful to ignore.

(First Day of the Black Forest Fire. The smoke now blankets the area from south of Colorado Springs to the whole Denver metro area. Photo Wikipedia by U8loLO).

Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com