As the heat of summer made itself known, I found my spot under the comforting shade of an old oak, perched atop a little knoll overlooking the Mississippi River. In hand, my faithful companion – a well-aged, beautifully crafted cigar, gleaming with a promise of the pleasure to come.
Ah, yes, there’s an art to savoring a fine cigar – much like the art of storytelling, I reckon. Each comes with its own character, a unique tale enveloped in its delicate layers, waiting to be unwrapped and enjoyed. A similarity I find most befitting, considering my fondness for both pursuits.
I reclined, feeling the gentle tickle of the grass against the back of my neck. The azure sky, dotted with cotton-like clouds, provided a lovely backdrop to the ever-dancing river. With a match struck, the flame was guided to the foot of my cigar, coaxing it to life. Its first wisp of smoke spiraled upward, carrying with it an aroma rich and inviting.
Taking the first puff, I let the smoke fill my mouth, a sweet-earthly taste flirting with my senses. A good cigar doesn’t just ask for your attention; it demands it. And it would be utterly uncouth to deny it such. Each puff, like a paragraph in a novel, draws you in, revealing subtle nuances and complexities.
A good cigar, you see, is like life itself, abundant with experiences. It starts out young and robust, brimming with potential.
The first third, full of vigor, is akin to youth, lively and bright, sometimes a bit audacious. But that’s where the charm lies.
The second third is the heart of the experience. As I puffed leisurely, I could taste the rich notes of the cigar maturing, much like life ripening with age and wisdom. It’s here, in the midst of our journey, we savor the present – the depth, the wisdom, the amalgamation of experiences. We understand that the essence of life, and a good cigar, is not to be rushed, but to be savored.
As the heat of summer made itself known, I found my spot under the comforting shade of an old oak, perched atop a little knoll overlooking the Mississippi River. In hand, my faithful companion – a well-aged, beautifully crafted cigar, gleaming with a promise of the pleasure to come.
Ah, yes, there’s an art to savoring a fine cigar – much like the art of storytelling, I reckon. Each comes with its own character, a unique tale enveloped in its delicate layers, waiting to be unwrapped and enjoyed. A similarity I find most befitting, considering my fondness for both pursuits.
I reclined, feeling the gentle tickle of the grass against the back of my neck. The azure sky, dotted with cotton-like clouds, provided a lovely backdrop to the ever-dancing river. With a match struck, the flame was guided to the foot of my cigar, coaxing it to life. Its first wisp of smoke spiraled upward, carrying with it an aroma rich and inviting.
Taking the first puff, I let the smoke fill my mouth, a sweet-earthly taste flirting with my senses. A good cigar doesn’t just ask for your attention; it demands it. And it would be utterly uncouth to deny it such. Each puff, like a paragraph in a novel, draws you in, revealing subtle nuances and complexities.
A good cigar, you see, is like life itself, abundant with experiences. It starts out young and robust, brimming with potential.
The first third, full of vigor, is akin to youth, lively and bright, sometimes a bit audacious. But that’s where the charm lies.
The second third is the heart of the experience. As I puffed leisurely, I could taste the rich notes of the cigar maturing, much like life ripening with age and wisdom. It’s here, in the midst of our journey, we savor the present – the depth, the wisdom, the amalgamation of experiences. We understand that the essence of life, and a good cigar, is not to be rushed, but to be savored.
As the sun embarked on its journey towards the horizon, I reached the final third of my cigar. The end is reflective, full of rich, deep notes. It’s here the story comes together, culminating in a satisfying, profound experience – the story’s denouement, if you will.
And as the sun turned the sky to hues of orange and purple, I found myself at the nub of the cigar. Its glow, dimming yet warm, was a sweet reminder of the journey well-traveled. And with a sigh of satisfaction, I let it rest.
A good cigar on a summer’s day is a sojourn to savor. It’s an unhurried dance, an exploration of depth and character, a testament to the beauty of slowing down. As the wisps of smoke spiral upwards and the world unfurls in its slow rhythms, you find yourself a participant in a narrative that unfolds languidly, lovingly – one puff at a time.
As I closed my eyes, a gratified smile found its home on my lips. A fine cigar, a summer’s day, and the rhythmic lullaby of the Mississippi – Ah! Life does offer some truly exquisite pleasures.
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Editor’s Note: As this editor enjoyed a recently purchased Dominican cigar poolside on a sweltering Florida summer’s night, he could not help but think what one of the greatest American writers of all time, Mark Twain, was thinking as he puffed on his own cigar under an old oak tree somewhere along the Mississippi. — GDM
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