Pipe And Tobacco In Hand, On A Blissful January Day

by Jan 27, 2021


Let us go for a walk—pipe, and tobacco in hand. The warm January air on my face as the wind blows in from the gulf. Spring is coming. The wind makes it difficult to light my pipe. Sometimes those cigar guys are on to something with those jet flame lighters. I could use one right now.

In comes spring, in January. As it usually does, we have a fake spring at the end of January into early February. At which point the winds shift to the North, and then winter comes howling its way through once more. Finally, the pipe is lit.

There is not much more wonderful than that first warm day after weeks of cold—a reminder of the renewing of life in the spring. I had a baby goat born on the farm yesterday—just another reminder of the renewing of life that comes this time of year.

I’ve been working on an old pipe lately, cleaning and sanding, finishing, and polishing. I replaced the stem and enlarged the bowl’s interior, removing the decades-old cake from the inside. I figured it was an excellent time to renew this pipe’s life at this time of year.

Poets Heart

Some say I have a poet’s heart in that I can always find the beauty of words to describe any emotion that I am feeling. Instead, when I feel either morose or ecstatic, I put pen to paper, I can usually bring beauty to the English language rarely found in modern times.

I am not just blowing my ego up; I was a published poet before I ever graduated high school. Twenty years later, it has dawned on me that perhaps some of the simple joys that led me through some of the darkest years of my life may be worth renewing once more. Just as the earth renews, so can our souls.

On days such as today, with this beautiful piece of brierwood in hand smoke tickling my tongue and the grassy Burley dancing across my olfactory, I cannot help but view the simplicity of life.

The experts say, and the sages proclaim the complexity, which is humanity. And just as the tobacco in my pipe, made from drying, flue-curing, and pressing. The complexity that becomes the tobacco stems simply from a seed placed within the earth.

In this complexity that is humanity, we the individual or simply a seed planted somewhere in society. None of us are truly complex if we are honest with ourselves. We have desires, and we have needs, and beyond that, there is not much more to us. Existing is simple; it is living that becomes complex.


For eons, man has looked to the stars and dreamed and wondered. And then we have found gods, and we have found Majesty. Somewhere beyond them, some of us even see heaven. And then, in the complexity that makes up the universe, we are but a simple seed, not just the individual but humanity as a whole.

It does not matter to what level we place the complexity that we view. There is always a higher complexity that proves our simplicity. We are fragile, and we are fallible. It does not take much to kill us; sometimes, we even kill ourselves.

Just as smoke rises encircling my head, dancing with complex shapes and patterns, It excites our minds by trying to view and understand all that is around this. Through some explanations, we lean to science; through others, we seek after God.

This path I walk while lunting is familiar and is safe. It is an old friend, a companion of dirt and grass. It sings to me through the voices of the birds. It nudges me onward with its gentle slope.

This path that is life ever-pressing onwards, as the ember of the pipe grows cold, so does the ember of the soul, and alas though I must part from my path and end my journey. The smell of the tobacco will linger on; hopefully, someone will come across it. Perhaps it will invoke memories of elders past, and perhaps it will excite the neurons into a frenzy, creating a longing for some melancholy nostalgic response.

Simply, it is a complex smoke emitted by the breath of a simple man.
A complexity of simplicity that is a lunting.


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