The Dalliance of Smoke

Inhale.

Exhale.

The breath of life began it all and connects all. A breath that is insurmountable. Uncontrollable. Unavoidable. Completely and fully essential. The world lives and breathes as one. From the boughs of trees to the veins of leaves, singular.

Inhale.

Exhale.

As is smoke. A symptom of death. A sign of destruction. A suggestion of decay. Floating, dancing, living on an invisible breath all its own. A wisp of what is to come and what has been and what never had a chance to be.

Inhale.

Exhale.

The shivering band of ancestors holed up beneath rock and branch. The heat of a communal flame the only chance for life to last. Smoke twirling and twisting, surrounding and enveloping each and everyone dispelling all fear. Leaving only peace and family.

Inhale.

Exhale.

The peace offering burnt on the altar or in the pipe shared between generations and cultures. Tying all together and tearing all apart. The sack of Rome. The offering to Yahweh. The fires of Pompeii. The cleansing dance of the natives. The sacrifice in protest. The passing on into the great beyond. And yet the smoke dances. Twirling and twisting. A life of its own. A memory of all time.

Inhale.

Exhale.

How strange it is the sinuosity of smoke. At once death and life. The twisting vines. The tendrils interlacing and interweaving, mimicking the trunks of the trees they are devouring.

Inhale.

Exhale.

The dalliance of smoke. The brief but all encompassing love of smoke and life. Commingling and coexisting. Life and death. Passion and anxiety.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Is it not strange, the dalliance of smoke?

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