Smoke and Mirrors

He held the cigarette between his fingers like a pair of scissors holding an object just before it performs it’s designed duty. Smoke whirled from the white stick’s end, thick enough to form a momentary milky white curtain; a hazy guard from intrusion from anyone nearby except for those who might enjoy the same pleasure. The sweet scent of the moment a flame first touches tobacco hung in the air, a strong, alluring smell that quickly vanishes into a more repellent odor of burned ashes, a stink so powerful it quickly creeps down one’s nostrils and seemingly into the taste buds.

He looks out beyond the smoke and haze. The look appears to be one where he has tuned out the world to savor one more pull from the addicting fusion of flavor found only in these narrow manufactured cylinders. Now and then though he does step to one side or the next but only a step at a time and just so people won’t have to walk over the top of him to get out of the rain and to the warmth and dryness that rests past the doors behind him. He finishes the cigarette and without thought slides what’s left into the tangle of his crusty, yellowed fingers where he flips it without abandon into the space away from him. It lands on wet concrete, still smoking, rolls belly-side up then stops all lonely-like yet still surrounded by others like it scattered all up and down the walkway. There it smolders, lingering for some final extinguishing act.

He looks at his watch and determines he has more time than he realized, enough time in fact to burn another one down. He pulls out a pack from his shirt pocket and palms the small rectangle of a box in his hand enough to cover the warning label. He shuffles the container in a way mysterious to those who have never felt the power a package of smokes holds. Out one ends slides another cigarette. He places it between his lips as he digs into his pants pocket to retrieve his trusted lighter. He spins toward the building in order to avoid the wind and the rain as it angles into the place he has staked out. As he faces the doors of this building, he stands face to face with the written notice on the door proclaiming the building a “smoke-free environment”.

To a casual observer watching nearby, this man appears to be someone burning his life away three minutes at a time. He appears to be someone chained to a habit that robs him and his family of money and time, now, and in the future. To the observer, he appears to be someone willing to put a stick of death in his mouth time after time and then to hold a small fire in his hand and near his face just so he can experience the euphoria this tiny bit of tobacco wrapped in paper brings. To the observer, this man’s compulsion is so strong it forces him to light up on this rainy day and stand an arm’s length from the door to the building where signs read “No smoking within 50 feet” forcing everyone who comes in and out of the building today to share in the smoky goodness that is second hand smoke. To the observer, he cannot fathom someone needing something so bad.

The observer shakes his head, turns up his bottle of Coca-Cola to drain the last drop, then takes the empty container and tosses it into a garbage can before walking into the building through the smoke, thankful he doesn’t have such an addiction.

Feel It

Rain had fallen overnight and on into the time when darkness surrendered to the gradual breaking of daylight. I inhaled deeply, not the least bit concerned about sucking in any dust or pollen or any other intrusive matter which might induce watery eyes, an itchy nose and an unwelcome urge to sneeze so fast and hard that my neck might launch off my shoulders. The scent of wet earth infiltrated every empty spot in my nostrils. Deep within, I could feel a churning.

Oh, I feel it coming back again…

Birds flew overhead dodging the intermittent raindrops while other birds skipped and danced along the ground. Some feathered creatures squawked, while others whistled in song and still others communicated in starts and fits that somehow, amidst the chaos, sounded like I was listening in on some secret language. These sounds blended in with the noise a new day makes as it settles in for a stay. Inside, I could feel something taking hold.

Like a rolling thunder chasing the wind…

Moving ahead, my steps slipped around shallow reservoirs from the earlier rainfall and despite my careful attempts, I still found some way to get part of me wet. My shoes were soggy and my umbrella was soaked. A droplet of moisture from the rain found it’s way to the back of my hand and trickled down my moist skin until it traveled enough to thinly disappear from sensation. More than before, I could feel something inside me telling me to pay attention.

Forces pulling from the center of the earth again…

I stopped for a moment, hopeful that the moment might also stop and remain so I could experience it just a little longer. I looked around to see tiny buds at the tip ends of ornamental trees and then looking upward I saw a swirl of gray and white clouds pass by with a trail of mist. My eyes reflected a moment in time that could only be replicated in memory. Seeing these things made the feeling deep in my gut grow more certain.

I can feel it…

Standing there, I knew I was lost in thought, yet my eyes tilted upward with my mouth gaping open, amazed at the scene, slowly, yet surely, opening before me. Rain fell again colliding with my nose, my ears, my hands and my mouth. A single drop of rain landed on my tongue, one single drop, not even enough to know for sure that it landed there one second after it had landed. Still, I felt more convinced than before about the feeling inside me.

I can feel it, I can feel it, I can feel it…

This winter has felt longer and harsher than recent winters and this is why, in large part, the return of spring is highly anticipated. God, without fail, always moves the seasons along but He moves them along at a pace He determines. No matter how long and dark this winter has seemed, it should be no real great surprise this year that spring once again follows winter. Sometimes though, what is surprising is when deep inside you, and then emanating from each of your senses, you feel one season making way for the next one.

I can feel it, I can feel it, I can feel it…

Lyrics from “Lightning Crashes” by Live

I Ran Across An Old Memory The Other Day

It was sometime in the early 1980s. It was a stretch of state highway 5 between Blue Ridge and Ellijay near Whitepath. On the car radio was my favorite radio station at the time, Atlanta’s 94Q. The song was “Waiting For A Girl Like You” by Foreigner. The car’s dashboard lights illuminated a tiny space in the car while outside darkness fell in a velvety black covering. Above, away from the lights on street corners, the stars twinkled in silver flecks against a bluish purple sky which looked more like backdrop painted by an artist.

I don’t really remember any more about all this than what I just wrote. I don’t recall whether it was summer or winter or spring or fall. I don’t remember the exact time of the evening. I don’t remember if I was with anyone else at that moment or not. I don’t even remember which direction I was headed. As a matter of fact it probably wouldn’t take much to convince me that the song on the radio may have been Foreigner’s “Urgent” and the radio station may have been 96 Rock.

That memory passed through my mind the other day out of the blue. Strange, isn’t it? So many things nowadays a body has to remember and out of nowhere a few seconds from thirty years ago comes up from behind crowding out all the space reserved for remembering and makes itself at home.

I’m not sure why that specific memory crept back in after all these years. I can’t board some time machine and go back. Although I loved my life then I’m not too sure I would even want to go back if I could, even for a brief time.

I know these things. Today, that stretch of road is still there. It is off the beaten path nowadays, thanks to a four lane highway connecting the two mountain towns. 94Q and 96 Rock are distant memories on the radio dial, replaced by a different generation of personalities and music. I am certain at night the stars still shine silvery-like against a dark mixture of colors along that same stretch of road even with the modern newfangled dashboards of our cars today.

I wish I could find some deep hidden meaning in that particular memory. I don’t really find any the longer I think about it. I do know I’ve got a lot of snippets of yesterdays like that floating around between my ears or fluttering around somewhere between my heart and my head or wherever such things reside. Now and then one of them pays me a visit, causing me to slow down for a moment and to look back. Sometimes I pause and reflect and can discover something to help me along my way today. Other times, I find I can only look back and smile before looking ahead and moving on.