Winter Smoke

Summary

The author reflects on the timeless and universal experience of seeing wood smoke rise in the cold air, signaling the arrival of winter, and reminisces about the similarities to their childhood in a distant northern home.

Abstract

"Winter Smoke" is a contemplative piece where the author draws parallels between their current view of smoke rising from a farmhouse in their seventies and the memories of their youth in a northern climate. The sight of wood smoke, regardless of location, evokes the essence of late autumn and the imminent winter. The author describes the scene near their home, where the smoke rises straight up, indicative of still, cold air, and reminiscent of the frigid winters of their childhood. The presence of grazing cattle and the proximity to the Pacific, juxtaposed with the calmness of the rising smoke, creates a serene and reflective atmosphere. The author cherishes this time of year for its unique fragrances and the peaceful resignation of nature preparing for winter. The smoke is a nostalgic symbol of warmth and comfort, conjuring images of cozy kitchens and freshly baked bread.

Opinions

The author finds a profound connection between the wood smoke in their current environment and their childhood memories, suggesting a sense of continuity and timelessness in the changing seasons.
They express a preference for autumn over other seasons, appreciating its distinctive scents and the quiet beauty of nature's transition into winter.
The author perceives the stillness of the rising smoke as a rare occurrence, given the usual presence of strong winds where they live, and finds it reminiscent of the intense cold and snow of their northern upbringing.
The farmhouse smoke is seen as a symbol of homeliness and sustenance, evoking feelings of warmth and the simple pleasures of life, such as baking bread.
The author seems to value the tranquility and simplicity of rural life, as suggested by their description of the farmhouse and the surrounding livestock area.

Softly Rising

Into the chill, moist air Wood smoke rising Winter settling in

It is so different and so alike — what I see here and now in my seventies and what I saw as a pre-teen youth in my northern home so far, far away from where I now have come to live out the rest of my days.

It does not seem to matter where on Earth I am, wood smoke slowly rising straight up means cold, still air, means late autumn, heralds winter, even if as yet many days off — has perhaps not even broken the horizon as yet.

The season, here in my seventies, is indeed late autumn; both in life and in the day surrounding. Cold evenings these days, and colder mornings. This is my favorite time of year. Not uplifting spring or sated summer, but the much more fragrant fall, where nature tucks itself in for the long sleep, heaving musty, fragrant sighs.

The smoke I see rises from the sole farmhouse that lies just beyond the city limits, just beyond the traffic sign that reads “Livestock Area”. And the sign does not lie: in the fields surrounding the farm dwelling, on any given day, there are forty or fifty grazing cattle, mostly young oxen, often with their mothers in tow, or the other way around.

This morning the smoke rises almost straight up into the air; curious since there’s almost always wind of some strength here, the house within view of the Pacific.

Rises almost straight up into the air reminding me of childhood smoke rising exactly straight up into the air on days far, far colder than this one, snow crunching beneath your feet as you walk, at every step. Winter long settled.

The smoke sings of warm kitchens and bread baking.

Winter Smoke

Softly Rising

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