Some find its odour burning sage offensive. Some burn it because of something they have read, and think they should do, without knowing why.
For reasons unknown to me, I find sage and the tangy, freshness its smudge smoke emits are a gift to my well being.
I have had the privilege to walk through fields where sage grows wild. It sets the senses in motion. Gently grasping the growth, run your hand upward along its leaves and stock. The scent that penetrates the hand lingers. Inhale the result, letting the sensation amble through the mind. Calm.
The pungent aroma fills the room. Eyes closed and thoughts draining from the over active cavity resting above the shoulders. Focused on breathing. Focused on the inner soul. Let the breeze from the open window take with it the unrest.
Preparing to slide into the darkness of sleep. Mind cleared. Quiet resonates, challenging the four walls to keep silent until the dawn breaks the horizon.
The smouldering sage is welcomed. Soothing. Restful. Sleep . . .
This is not a story or even the beginning of one, although it could be. It is how I end my day.
Author, Photographer, Lover of Life