Atmospheric

Reality feels a bit wafty today.

I can reach out to grab something and watch it waft away like the smoke trickling from a single cigarette in an ashtray. The ashtray is sitting in a kitchen that’s just experiencing the first morning light creeping through the blinds, one cool fall day fifteen years ago. The smoke ascends from the ember in a bolt straight line for about two inches, then suddenly starts to dance and flurry and eventually dissipate into the air. I may grab a fork or a piece of mail or just use my hand and waft the smoke about, but in seconds it returns to its natural dance.

I like it. It’s not a bad feeling, in the same way that rain isn’t bad weather. It breeds (or, perhaps, is bred from) complacency.