Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • The smells fade last. All the millions of tiny particles I breathe in - the smoke of burning brush and garbage, of charcoal cooking fires, of stew. Sunbaked dirt roads. Stale and dusty blood stained clothes. Hardworking bodies. Dry bones. Ripe fruit. Each particle goes in, is absorbed, becomes a part. My cells merge with these otherworldly cells and in an instant, I am changed. I am added to. I am transformed.

    But then I go home. I don't feel the same, but I settle in. My new self figures out how to reconcile with the life my old self had. I remember when to sleep.

    The smells that wouldn't leave my palate fade, and I forget.

    And then: a trigger.
    The smoke of burning leaves allows that other smoke to re-materialize, and I am taken back -
    a bright and lucid instant, a portal not just to a memory, but to a vision
    of that place
    in this time
    a window into what could be
    if I was there now, again or still.
    • Share

    Connected stories:

About

Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.