Last night I dreamt that fire was racing up the mountain towards our camp. The scrub oaks, cats claw, yucca and dry golden grasses blazing in a furry of fire. As I ran up the hill away from it the heat and flames swept me up, over the cliff edge and engulfed me in flames as I hurdled into the arroyo. I have intense dreams almost nightly, but this is the first time I’ve experienced my death in a dream. It’s one of those dreams that sticks with you all day. I guess this experience with the fire will be with me for a while. It feels like an affirmation that my decision to live on the road again, making art in and about these precious places is what I need to do at this moment. So here I am, one day at a time, trying to figure out how to share this story and create more light in this world that can feel so overwhelmingly difficult sometimes.