I’ve discovered the joy of pipe smoking. It’s in the rhythmical puffing. The quiet “shh shh shh” it makes as air is drawn through the chamber. The smell of the tobacco. The slow and steady inhales through my mouth and nose. The intermittent sighs—a draw of peaceful solitude.
It’s like waking up at my uncle’s cabin, or like basking in the sun on the lake as the water laps at the sides of the boat. It ranks in just after sex and Lake Powell. It is the ultimate in intense relaxation and it should be counted as ritual “man time.” It breeds wonderful analysis. As if the tobacco was laced with hints of ingenuity and reason and introspection and wisdom that goes far beyond my own.
Breathing through that Briar is like breathing life.
Okay, maybe that was a little bit overboard. ;)
Photo by ifyr