When someone named it the Pyrocene Period, we were already walking with fire extinguishers and wearing plastic sunbonnets. Modest was less a description unless someone was clothed in asbestos. The best job was firefighter because they were our truth tellers. Arsonist was the first word that children sounded out. There was a picture of a hooded person with a match or was that Johnny Storm? I first encountered fire when my parents burned Christmas paper in the fireplace. Then, when my brother, like a weak Prometheus started a fire under the sunporch. Fireman came to school and told us to make maps to escape our homes. What did they know? What dread, like some frightening prophecy at Fatima. Were they piece meal the children of property owners? There were red boxes on almost every street corner begging to be broke. But like a bad wish the fire department would arrive, to scold or fulfill their obligation. We brought our preschool children to the fire station. These guys will save us. As if written on the backs of their jackets. The weather before Pyrocene had wildfires in the western part of the state. The big fires were east or north in Canada. They had crews that sometimes went over the pass to help or was it to keep the fire on that side of the state. They did not call it the smoke season when it began but that’s what summer became. Like my parents second hand smoke from Kent regulars or dad rolling his own, I was sure I had a remnant deep in my lungs soon to be activated in the Fumcene Period. The sky, unwanted fog, warm with a red, sun lingered. I begged for wind, the dregs of the bag Odysseus companions released, to clear the air. Forecasting like an oracle gone amok, could not tell, only amuse the muses. Some religious groups were created during this time. Getting right with fire was a worthy prayer. My upbringing of promulgation had a sacrament around fire; a descending tongue upon the confirmed. The slap from the bishop was truly the outward sign. Fire stolen could never be returned. The flood was the mean standard. Noah the ark and water were an unbreakable triad. A world destroyed by fire would have no ravens or doves returning. Who would do forty days in a lake of fire? Gather what one can, and elevate fire ants to assemblyman. You see the shift. I will not be around for this insane intensity of belief, to worship fire or keep the flame burning long after the oil is gone. Fire must be equal in mountain scorching and city blaze and the word “blame” must be bantered about till no one cares. Survival will be the highest calling. Fireman knew, but only just. Rampant flames have their say. I had to let die that someone would come along with a solution. The gods of money and untruth tilted the scale towards the planets doom. And we were trained to duck and cover from nuclear attack.