I still remember the morning of January 7, 2025. I awoke to an odd scent of burning ... both natural and chemical. I went downstairs and opened my kitchen door, like I do most mornings. Typically, I'm greeted with the joyful sounds of children heading to school, but this time I found the air thick, the density burning to my eyes and seemingly layered onto my skin, my clothes. The streets were oddly vacant.

I hadn't heard about the fires yet. Something inside me said to close my doors and windows, and do whatever I could to stay inside. Later, I saw the reports. Friends desperately texted one another for days to ensure each other were okay. Each moment, we reiterated to one another that no matter what, if anyone was impacted, they always had a place to stay ... a second home.

Later, dear friends had a need for that second home and continue to do so. The loss caused by such devastation so much more than a physical home, but a place of emotional strength, stability, comfort, joy. All gone in what felt like mere moments.

This anthology is for those who have experienced such loss. To continue to provide a place of solace, words of comfort, and knowledge