It always begins…
a strike of a match….
the strange smell like gasoline….
The flick of the wrist to douse the flame from the match….
The end of the cigarette is lit. It just…burns. It doesn’t…do anything
Wait! The smoke! It’s a single string into the air as the cigarette burns
Hack! *Cough!* But it sure makes my eyes water and my throat sting!
The end of the cigarette is glowing red as the tip burns. The smoke trail twists and turns
It is brought to the mouth so the flavor of the tobacco and the feeling the nicotine gives
Is taken in by the user as he lowers his hand, cigarette intertwined in the fingers…
What a sight it now gives!
Not of the user but of the trail of smoke; it is no longer a single trail; it is multiple-layered
Circular, spiral, concentric, coiled and all embedded in the fog that now goes wayward
One, no, two, no…ten? Twenty…snakes all intertwined in the smoke.
Or, is it just one with many parts intertwined in a detailed pattern, styled baroque?
Follow one strand and it merges with another; then three more, then it’s easily five or ten
Before long, the snake dancing in the air so beautifully and its parts intertwined so delicately
Turn into a great big ball of gas; of smoke. Then, it gradually fades away.
Wait, fades? What happened?
The Dance of the Snake is now over; the butt of the cigarette was smashed into the ashtray.