# Whispers of Smoke

## The Gentle Ascent

Smoke begins at the source—a quiet fire in a hearth or a distant campfire. It gathers from embers, twisting upward in thin tendrils, carrying warmth from below. On a still evening, I watch it climb, unhurried, merging with the sky. It's not forceful like wind or rain; it's patient, revealing itself only as it leaves the familiar behind.

## The Fleeting Spread

Once aloft, smoke wanders. It diffuses into gray veils, outlining shapes in the air—curls that hint at faces or memories, then dissolve. No two moments are the same; it touches everything lightly before vanishing. What starts contained becomes boundless, yet holds no shape of its own. In this, there's freedom: to expand without clinging, to influence without enduring.

## Echoes That Linger

Smoke fades, but its path remains in our minds. It signals presence—a home ahead, a gathering shared. More than that, it mirrors our days: efforts that rise, touch others, then slip away. We can't grasp it, only witness. This teaches release—to fuel the fire well, knowing the smoke will speak for us briefly.

*Like smoke, our kindest acts drift far, even after we're gone.*