Before darkness descended tonight, a giant red fireball had hung ominously within a white blanket of smoke. Ash and burnt debris whipped about in a rush of oven-hot air.

Reporting to you live from Huntington Beach, Calif., I’m in the middle of a firestorm as I write this month’s column. Wildfires rage all around me, burning up hundreds of thousands of acres from Malibu to San Diego. It’s downright apocalyptic.