All day Monday, neighbors stood on the sidewalks catching up on this and that, and scanning the whorls of flame on the mountain that looms above their town.
Sierra Madre was like an out-of-scale drive-in movie theater, with the audience watching a life-and-death battle roar across a vast vertiginous screen.
Normally, residents converge for hikes, or concerts in the park, or Fourth of July parades. Last month they celebrated the annual Wistaria Festival in honor of a sprawling 114-year-old vine that is recognized as one of the world's largest blossoming plants.
Now they came together as they found their beloved vestige of small town America, population 10,500, under siege.
The sky clattered with the surround-sound cacophony of the modern world.
Air tankers roared in, trailing giant red plumes of retardant. The chop of helicopters drummed off the broken granite ridges.
"There's the spotter plane," said Janet Petty, 66, watching from the front row -- where her home, unfortunately, is located -- high up in the cedars on Carter Avenue. She watched the plane and an air-tanker behind it crest a ridge and make a deep swoop toward her. "Don't drop it on me, bud," she said.
But the steepness of the slopes threw off perspective. The retardant doused a thread of fire a good half a mile away.
About 700 firefighters were on the job by Monday evening, including members of the town's volunteer department. The fire had consumed more than 530 acres, prompting the evacuation of about 1,000 residents. Many had thought they were in the clear Sunday night but woke up in the morning to see that the fire had made a run toward town.
Shortly before noon, evacuated residents had been allowed to return to an area east of Camillo Street. But winds picked up, and a new group of homeowners between Michillinda Avenue and Oak Crest Drive had to abandon their houses.
By evening, only 21% of the fire was contained. However, only a single outbuilding had burned, according to a U.S. Forest Service spokeswoman.
For much of the day, residents clumped together on sidewalks with binoculars and cellphones. Some brought out lawn chairs, gazing silently at the eerie purple light, the funnels of smoke and the hypnotic ebb and flow of the flames.
When a flare-up burst just above Baldwin Avenue just before noon, the crowd gasped.
