# Smoke's Gentle Rise

## Born of Warmth

Smoke begins with fire—a simple spark in dry wood, a shared cigarette on a quiet porch, or the steam from morning coffee curling upward. It's not the blaze itself, but its breath, rising without effort. In that first moment, it carries the essence of what created it: the crackle of connection, the glow of presence. No force, just natural lift.

## Swirling into Nothing

Watch it twist in the air. One second, it's a thin trail pointing skyward; the next, it spreads, thins, dissolves into blue. It doesn't fight the wind or cling to form. Smoke teaches release—not dramatic, but inevitable. Like worries that build in the chest and then, with a deep breath, scatter. Or days that feel heavy until they fade into night.

## The Trace Left Behind

What endures isn't the visible puff, but the faint scent on clothes, the warmth in the air long after flames die. Smoke reminds us meaning hides in subtlety:

- A memory triggered by a whiff years later.
- The quiet bond of people gathered around the source.
- Permission to let go, knowing something lingers.

In a world chasing permanence, smoke offers peace in passing.

*Like breath on a cold window, it shapes the moment, then vanishes cleanly.*