The rain drops splattered all around, glistening with the last rays of the sun, surprising the already bent grass into the ground. Something about it was soothing. The gentle rhythm of drip drop, drip drop drop, drip drop, drip drop drop. Beside me lies a 110lb goat, silky black hair with white spots. Her personality was type-A, out-going and friendly, not afraid to show me affection, licking my legs, arms and face. I drew again on my hand rolled cigarette, held it for a moment in my mouth, and exhaled letting the sweet smell of pipe tobacco fill the small enclosure of the lean-two. I didn’t feel a rush of nicotine, that wasn’t why I did it. It’s like a cup of joe in the evening after a long day of working, it’s not about the caffeine for me, it’s about the flavor. If I wanted caffeine I could stop by Starbucks and pick up a cup of joe, or get a pound of Maxwell for $2.99 from the store. It’s not about the caffeine, it’s about the flavor, the little that the caffeine does for me I enjoy, but it’s more of a side note or benefit than anything else.
It’s like a glass of Cabernet after a dinner, the rush of flavors wash over my mouth, I can smell and taste the oak that the wine was aged in, the long hours spent picking the grapes by hand, fermenting it in large vats, and eventually aged in a bottle for who knows how long. It’s not about the alcohol, if it was I would’ve gone for the vodka, cheap and gets the job done faster than a six pack or a bottle of wine. It’s not about the nicotine, it’s about the flavor, it’s about the smell, getting away for a ‘breath of fresh air’.
I sat there, rain steadily petering out as the sun faded into the west. I felt peace, I felt calm. It’s the still moments you remember. You don’t remember running to the store to get the jug of milk before they close at 10pm, you don’t remember driving to your wedding day celebration at the church at noon. You remember the event that happened, not what got you there. You remember the still moments, searching the shelf for the best price for milk, standing there while you hardly hear the preacher pronounce you man and wife. You remember the still moments in life, the quiet times.
It’s the walk in the woods with no one around. The birds chirping from their trees, wind rustling the leaves, rocks slowly growing lichen on their ever greening skin. Ferns clumped by the base of a small cedar, the slight drop off at the edge of the boulders. It’s the stillness in life that we remember, it’s the stillness in life that we need.