POWAY, CALIF. -- The 88-year-old man sits on a bench and lights a cracked briar pipe. He looks out at the black void and sighs.
The firestorm three months ago killed most of the sound here. No birds warble, no leaves flutter, no coyotes yelp in the night. The giant, tilted slabs of granite on the ridge peer like statues down on a moldering pyre.
Jerome "Joe" Wier comes up here most days in his little Chevy pickup and secondhand clothes. He sits for hours under a scraggly tree, staring up at the boulders -- and at the place where his house once stood.
A neighbor across the gully has seen him crying. He denies it.
He built the house with his own hands. When the fire took it, Wier and his wife, Marion, lost every possession they had collected over 58 years of marriage. They lost every photo of their family, the bundle of letters that Joe sent her while he was in the Navy, the leather-bound journal Marion scribbled her thoughts in for the last quarter century. They lost all their clothes, keepsakes, records, medications -- even Joe's hearing aid and dentures.
And they lost this bit of wilderness that fed the life in themselves.
"Remember the hummingbirds we had here, Joe?" Marion asks, looking out at the canyon. "Oh, sure, nature will rejuvenate itself in a few years. But we don't have a few years, Joe. That's the sad part."
--Joe Mozingo in the Los Angeles Times, 23 January 2008