It has been said human beings are instinctively drawn to the comforting and protective elements of fire. Quite the opposite was on display this week in Los Angeles, as Southern California’s annual firestorm took on an unusual ferocity that sent tens of thousands literally running from the hills.

The inferno began Thursday evening in Montecito, an exclusive enclave two hours north of Los Angeles. Then on Friday night, a separate brush fire erupted in the grass hills above Sylmar, a suburb on the outer reaches of the San Fernando Valley, about 30 miles north of downtown Los Angeles. On Saturday morning yet another fire began. The “Freeway Complex Fire,” so named because of its proximity to the 57, 142 and 91 freeways, spread through Chino Hills, Yorba Linda, Brea, and Anaheim.

In all, nearly 40,000 acres have been burned, tens of thousands have been forced to flee the area, and hundreds left homeless. According to a press release issued by the office of Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger, state and local agency response costs are estimated to be $15 million per day. On Tuesday, President Bush declared California a major disaster area and ordered federal aid “to supplement state and local response efforts.”

In Sylmar’s “Sayre” fire, 479 homes have been lost, 138 more have been damaged alone.

“This is the closest I’ve been to a war zone,” a Sylmar resident told a Los Angeles Times reporter Sunday.

And yet, it could have been worse. Fire crews were well prepared for the extent of the blazes, a fire captain told me Monday.

“With this fire weather, we stay in tune with weather forecasts,” said Captain Phil Schneider of the Los Angeles County Fire Department. “We increase man power when the weather conditions get prime for a fire.”

Even Rancho Palos Verdes, a relatively quiet, seaside community nestled next to the Pacific Ocean, was not safe from Mother Nature’s wrath: the deadly combination of high winds, low humidity and unseasonably hot weather that strike the region like clockwork every fall.

On Saturday morning, thick clouds of black-gray smoke could be seen rising from a hillside overlooking an eerily placid Pacific. A small crowd of onlookers pulled to the side of the road and gathered in a small park overlooking the blaze. No one spoke.

Firefighters hurriedly rushed into the haze and heat while helicopters hovered overhead, dropping hundreds of gallons of water on the parched hillside. The fire lasted two hours. Only 10 acres burned. No one was hurt, no buildings were damaged. A blown transformer, officials said, was to blame.

Yet it was enough to strike fear in local residents. And although strangely out of place, the scene looked strikingly familiar.

The fires, it seems, are everywhere.

It’s nearly impossible to escape the torment Mother Nature throws at this part of the world every year. That’s the price we pay for living where the sun shines 320 days a year and the ocean temperature is a comfortable 63 degrees in mid-November.

It’s difficult to prepare for reality. Take last week, for instance. Citizens of Los Angeles participated in a mock earthquake drill. Workers in business suits and kids in school uniforms huddled underneath desks, in preparation for the inevitable “Big One.” We’re still waiting for the earthquake. Meanwhile, chaos reigns in the foothills surrounding Los Angeles. Our prayers are with the victims.

This past week proved that fire can be everything but comforting. Especially, I suppose, when it’s right in your backyard, about to engulf your home.