As we drove north of Edgemont, SoDak, we passed a flashing highway sign:

"Smoke Ahead"

"Caution: Fire Area"

And a mile or so farther along, another with the same message.

They weren't kidding. It was several hours after sunset, and we soon found out the clouds we thought were obscuring the nearly full moon weren't clouds at all...

They were dense banks of smoke.

It was like driving through a fog, a fog that smelled of burned pine and brush. We had both driven through the smoke banks of the Yellowstone fires, but this smelled different. Sweeter.

As we rounded a bend in the mountains, the wife exclaimed and pointed ahead.

I saw red stars! At first I thought the smoke was tinting the color of stars, as it does sunsets. A whole bank of glowing red stars directly in front of us, with dark smoke above.

And then we saw the firewurm.

A bona fide, living firewurm. A solid, narrow line of red and orange flame coursing down a hill, at least a mile long. It was continuous, with no break at all. Rising and falling with the contour of the land.

The red "stars" were the glowing remains of burned trees, high on the hill. And this thin ribbon of flame was the monster that had devoured them.

The West Hell fire.

Other than the dimmed headlights of a few vehicles on the highway, and the emergency vehicles parked along the side roads, the firewurm was the only source of illumination. Pitch black below it, pitch black with red stars above. In between, an incredibly narrow band of light.

You could see it moving down, weaving back and forth. Looking every bit like something alive. Or a borealis. I have seen wildfires in the daylight, and from a distance at night, but never up close like this.

We watched as several trees torched up in flames.

At its closest point, it was less than a quarter mile from us and the highway. I was amazed they hadn't closed the road, but so grateful to be able to drive by this.

A true force of nature.

The road pulled away and over a rise, leaving us with only smoke and haze. We seriously considered turning back to watch the firewurm consume the mountain.

And then the road dipped us down to the north side of the mountain. And there was the other end of the wurm, just as narrow, just as bright, feeding its way down the steep, timbered slopes.

Absolutely beautiful.

Our fires never burn like this. The winds twist and turn them, leaping some fans of flame ahead, leaving others lagging behind. But this was a perfect, narrow line of flame. No remnants of fire behind, no advance thrusts of ignition. Just the steady, remorseless advance of the firewurm. An irresistible force of change.

I craned my head around to watch it as long as possible.

When it was out of sight, I felt drained, as though we had left the presence of something holy.

And perhaps we had.