Resonance Through the Smoke: The Sound of Healing Communities After the Los Angeles Fires

*It is recommended by the author that you listen to the accompanying sound piece with
headphones after reading, and consider listening in an outdoor communal space, allowing
the sounds of the environment to influence your experience.

On January 8th, 2025, I woke up at 4:30 a.m. to the sound of my dog barking to a scratching sound on our bedroom wall. The Santa Ana winds were howling, and it sounded as if some creature was trying to claw through the walls for refuge. Shortly after, the siren-like vibrations on my partner’s phone jolted us fully awake. It was an alert from the LA County Fire Department: “Fire evacuation warning: Gather loved ones, pets, and supplies and be prepared to evacuate”.

As we packed essential items into our car - photos, computers, and our 7lb rescue dog Ziggy - I glanced out the window. Several green parrots were perched on the electrical wires, squawking against the fiery watercolor skies painted red, orange, and gray. These noisy birds, once on the brink of extinction, are a species native to Mexico that found a second life in Los Angeles ¹ . Their screeches are as much a part of the city’s sonic fabric as the hum of traffic is, and in this moment they faced the same impossible decision that many of us did: stay and hope, or flee to bluer skies and safer ground. But flight is not an option for everyone, and leaving, after all, is a privilege - not everyone has the means, the mobility, or a place to go.

As we returned to our scorched city in the aftermath of the fires (our house, thankfully, remained unharmed), I found myself thinking of all the life forms left helpless in devastation - and of the profound resilience we share. Community, in its many forms, becomes the only extinguisher we have in moments of great pain. In crisis, we reach out instinctively to help one another, even strangers.

As the fires raged through the hills, the world did not fall silent - it held its breath. Trees, in their ancient wisdom, closed the tiny pores on their leaves, an act of self-preservation to keep from inhaling the thick smoke that filled the sky. Scientists call this process stomatal closure, a defense mechanism that allows them to conserve water and energy when the air turns toxic ² . I imagined them standing still in the heat, waiting, listening to the crackle of flames and the roar of the wind, holding on to the stories buried deep in their roots. We do the same - holding our breath for our homes, our neighbors, and our memories. I wonder what they tell each other in these moments, as I stumble through my own words to those around me - knowing that words often can’t hold the weight of what we feel. The aftermath of tragedy is as significant as the event itself. How we respond, both consciously and unconsciously, shapes the future and the ways we rebuild together. It makes me wonder, what does this communal process sound like?

Nearby, movement replaced stillness. Coyotes fled ahead of the fire line, their instincts guiding them away from the encroaching danger. Some were spotted wandering city streets in the days that followed ³ , as their usual habitat reduced to burnt remains. The urban landscape, which normally exists as an uneasy truce between human and wild, became an unintended refuge. With no choice but to adapt, they scoured through the city for food, and moved like ghosts through neighborhood streets now layered in ash. The boundaries between their world and ours blurred - just as many of us had been displaced, so had they.

Bees, on the other hand, did not flee. Instead, they retreated inward, sealing themselves inside their hives with propolis, a resin-like substance that acts as abarrier against smoke and heat ⁴ . Entire colonies huddled together in the dark, conserving energy and waiting for the air to clear. I saw a reflection of our instincts in the bees’ behavior - to seek shelter, cling to those closest to us, and endure devastation by turning toward one another.

In the days and weeks after the fires, the soundscape of destruction slowly gave way to renewal. The eerie hush of charred land was punctuated by the first tentative bird calls, the soft crunch of new shoots breaking through soil, the hum of bees emerging from their hives. Human voices, too, joined in - neighbors exchanging words of comfort, the clatter of rebuilding efforts, music at community gatherings to honor what was lost, and what remained. These sounds, woven together, formed a language of resilience that extended beyond our species.

Even in catastrophe, there is a rhythm to survival. Some run, others brace against the storm, and some turn inward and wait. But none endure alone. The soundscape of a wildfire is not just the roar of destruction - it is the silence of trees holding their breath, the restless footsteps of displaced animals, the hushed hum of bees in hiding. It is the collective inhalation before the world exhales again, before life returns to the spaces left behind. We see this time and time again, not just in climate disasters, but in devastation of all kinds. Survival in the wake of political strife follows a similar pattern - displacement, resilience, and the slow reclaiming of what was lost. The rhythms of resistance persist, echoing through the wreckage, and shaping a path forward even when the future is uncertain.

Sound has always been a bridge between worlds - between past and future, between loss and renewal, between humans and the ecosystems we inhabit. In the wake of destruction, it reminds us that no being suffers or recovers in isolation. The distant howl of a coyote who fled the flames, the rustling of wind through singed branches, the mumbled voices sharing stories around a relief center - each is a note in the symphony of survival, an echo of the interconnectedness that sustains us all.

Communal healing is not only found in the songs we sing or the words we share. It is in the quiet patience of trees regrowing their leaves, in the instinctive return of wildlife to a changed but familiar land, in the unspoken understanding between those who have witnessed destruction and choose, together, to move forward. Long after the flames receded, I began listening to the city differently than before - to the whispers of regrowth, to the small gestures of care exchanged between neighbors. The language of sound, of life itself, reminds us that healing is never solitary. It is, always, a chorus.

Donation resources:

Mutual Aid LA: https://mutualaidla.org/
Habitat LA: https://www.habitatla.org/
Pasadena Humane: https://pasadenahumane.org/
Coalition for Clean Air: https://www.ccair.org/

Footnotes

1. Sahagún, Louis. 2024. “Feral Mexican parrots thrive on exotic L.A. landscaping.” Los Angeles ↩
2. Farmer, Delphine, MJ Riches, and The Conversation US. 2024. “Some Trees ‘Hold Their ↩
3. Straker, Renee. 2025. “California Wildfires Hurting Wildlife: Burned Coyote Wanders Pacific ↩
4. 4 Tribe, Geoff, Jürgen Tautz, Karin Sternberg, and Jenny Cullinan. 2017. “Firewalls in bee ↩