Deluge of ash washing down from the Arapaho Fires.
Ok, at last I am ready to describe it.
We had just arrived at the ranch. This is a working ranch, mind you-- just down from the Bighorn Mountains. No where near the easy wealth of Jackson Hole -- more prairie than Teton. I was passing through for an overnight at my sister's family ranch with my triplet sisters and childhood friend. Just arrived, and ditched our bags up the staircase with the bullet hole. Sunset. We had just finished pouring gin & tonics to wash the dust down when we heard the sound of water gushing down the little branch of the Laramie River which runs next to the "big house." Figuring this was something to watch, we grabbed some plastic lawn chairs and settled in next to the cottonwoods. First sip.
By the second sip, it was clear that the sudden wash down from the distant mountains was rising rapidly enough to have my sister on her feet. The water was boiling up; it was black with fine ash, and all the little creatures were thrashing onto the bank, dying from the fine silt filling their gills, lungs, and air tubes. Shocking.
I have saved this ash for use in my drawing and paintings.
