The Dragonfly and Raven

The Dragonfly and Raven

Tuesday, April 7, 2015

The Meander of Smoke

An old man with a cancer stick,
Burning tobacco and other additives,
Creating a putrid black smoke,
Smoke that enters him,
Invading his lungs and poisoning him.
Rending great scars.
It also attacks those around him,
An overwhelming olfactory barrage.

A circle of friends in a thicket,
Sitting on dried stumps of trees.
In the hands of one is a pipe,
A pipe of blown-glass,
Filled with a strong indica blend.
They burn the grass,
And share in its inhalation,
Allowing the tendrils of the plant to wrap themselves around their brains,
Squeezing them much like a boa constrictor does a mouse--
Bringing great joy.

A coal-colored storm cloud over a coastal pine forest.
The Wrath of Zeus rains down upon the tall Douglas Firs.
The jolt of electricity sparks on contact,
Like a hammer striking steel on a blacksmith's anvil.
The torrential winds topple the gentle giant,
Spreading the greedy fire,
A disease that poisons the entire forest.
Smoke rises from the razed wood,
Spreading out onto the sea like a typical coastal fog.

A dozen or so friends huddled about a campfire,
The only light around, like a candle in the darkness.
From all directions there can be heard chirps and hoots.
The gurgling of a nearby creek.
They all grin ear to ear,
Extending skewers with hot dogs and marshmallows over the blaze.
The smoke of the fire shifts with the wind,
Following some of the teens trying to escape it.
But the smoke is not bad.
It may irritate the eyes, but it stimulates the nose.
It smells of smoked salmon,
And sweet, sweet sap,
And of the friendship and the companionship and the intimacy of the night.