Climbing Upward
On my way to town, I drive past houses where smoke from chimneys curls upward. It’s comforting to watch the updraft. I suddenly recall the boxy houses with chimneys that I once drew with a pencil as a child, always a curl of smoke climbing. What I like about the smoke, I suppose, is that it has direction. Not lost, not confused. It’s climbing upward. I live among mountains. I am nestled below in a valley. Yesterday I was in a group where people were talking about grief and ho