The next morning the TV news said that people in our area were advised to evacuate their property : we were in a high-risk area for fire.
(...)
By late afternoon, the smell of woodsmoke was heavy on the air, and the TV and the radio were both telling us to get out, now, if we could. We smiled at each other, and drank our beers, and congratulated each other on our understanding of a difficult situation, on not panicking, on not running away.
Neil Gaiman, August tale in A Calendar of (...)