What can YOU say in six sentences?
A storm was building along the Locust Fork of the Warrior River where Mike and I lived on a small sheltered slough.
Lightning whipcracked a pine tree not 40 yards from where I sat, setting it aflame. But the fire wasn't orange or red; it was green from the turpentine and sap and resins and bark and needles all catching at once.
Then the tree began to whistle as steam escaped from all the tiny holes made over the years by pine beetles and woodpeckers.
The whistling changed into a jet engine roar at the instant the fire changed to orange and, with a mighty upward whoosh, consumed every last combustible molecule of pine.
Then, as suddenly as the lightning had come, the fire was gone and all that stood was a blackened lodgepole, slick with creosote.