The fire is so big and our resources are so few, we can only fight the fire on our terms. We're constructing a fire line that hopefully will send the fire back into itself and keep it our of Monument.

In my biology class, we'd talked about the definition of life: to be classified as a living creature, a thing needs to eat, breathe, reproduce, and grow. Dogs do, rocks don't, trees do, plastic doesn't. Fire, by that definition, is vibrantly alive. It eats everything from wood to flesh, excreting the waste as ash, and it breathes air just like a human, taking in oxygen and emitting carbon. Fire grows, and as it spreads, it creates new fires that spread out and make new fires of their own. Fire drinks gasoline and excretes cinders, it fights for territory, it loves and hates. Sometimes when I watch people trudging through their daily routines, I think that fire is more alive than we are–brighter, hotter, more sure of itself and where it wants to go. Fire doesn't settle; fire doesn't tolerate; fire doesn't 'get by.'
Fire does.
Fire is.

He was still a little nervous going into the final. He didn't come out with that fire that he had earlier. But he'll get that back.

It's like a fire. If you have kindling and you have to put something on that fire to keep it going then I guess that's what you do with a junior college player.

That was unprecedented. Nobody has ever gotten Fire Officer of the Year two times.

Southern Ohio is in a moderate drought, and I could tell the fire Wednesday was burning different, more intense. This has the potential to get a lot worse if we don't get some moisture.