On morning walks for many weeks after the calamitous firestorm in Altadena, California, last January, I would happen upon stray pockets suspended in time.
Homes trimmed with Christmas 2024’s forest-green wreaths, or perhaps a tipped-over jolly Santa. One vestige was most haunting: a grand front-lawn California live oak that was adorned with enormous, still-shiny ornaments catching the sun—a stopped clock.
Continuing to the street’s end, however, supplied blunt context. Those structures were sole survivors. The bungalows and ranch houses that once filled the neighborhood had been reduced to fire rubble: twisted metal, shattered stucco, and an explosion of glass shards. For months, it remained that way. Two truths, side by side. The casual arbitrariness of it all, staggering.
Backhoes and stake trucks cleared and carried away much of that rough…