The winds came back this morning. Blowing cold, they didn't feel like Santa Anas. Yet I climbed into a long sleeved tee shirt and jeans and knee high socks to greet the day in. Perhaps Autumn has really arrived, and not just by the calendar.

They had the day off, it being Rosh Hashanna. After a lazy morning of coffee and the newspaper in bed while the boys slept in, we went to see hubby and hit up the bookstore that the kids had gift cards for. So we drove over Box Canyon, the boys and I, to see the fireline. Wow. One home, the marker for the turn onto Box, is completely destroyed. There was a woman there this noon, combing through the rubble, a huge dumpster waiting for her refuse. So sad. On our way back, we noticed that her husband was wielding a shovel and her sister (or daughter) provided staunch support as she sat and cried, the burned out cars sitting in the driveway mute testimony to the heat that seared through their existence.

Driving through Box and West Hills, we counted at least ten fire trucks sitting in various places. Waiting for the fire to erupt again from ashes. Waiting. Dreading. Hoping it wouldn't happen. With such a cold wind, though, all we saw were ash-devils, wind swirling through land already burnt to a crisp.

We also saw the telecom company out, fixing the downed power lines (2 or 3). The trucks made for a tight fit through Box sometimes, where the lanes are smaller than Topanga Canyon ever thought to be.

Perhaps fall has, truly, finally arrived and the fires are behind us for this year.

Perhaps.