# Smoke's Quiet Passage

## The Curl and Rise

Sit by a small fire on a still evening. Wood crackles, gives way to flame, and smoke emerges—soft, gray tendrils reaching upward. It moves without hurry, shaped by the breeze, carrying the scent of earth and warmth. In that rise, smoke shows us release: what was solid becomes fluid, joining the vast air above.

## The Slow Dissolve

Watch longer, and it thins. Swirls blend into nothing, unseen yet felt in the cooling night. No trace lingers in the sky, only memory in your lungs. This fade whispers of life's brief forms—joys, worries, moments that hold us then slip free. Smoke doesn't cling; it transforms and departs, leaving space for what follows.

## Echoes in the Air

What stays? The fire's glow dims to embers, the ground holds enriched ash. Smoke signals change without demanding permanence.

- It marks presence without possession.
- It clears the way for fresh breath.
- It reminds us to honor the now.

In its path, we learn to loosen our grip, to find peace in the flow.

*Like smoke, our days rise, drift, and make room for tomorrow.*