smoke

At Mr. McH’s farewell BBQ yesterday, we used mesquite woodchips while cooking the food. The dense smoke permeated not only the meat on the grill, but our clothes, skin, and hair. Hours later, I still smelled like a smokehouse, and it reminded me of Sunday night campfire at camp. The air was similarly cool, with summer losing its grip, and we would return from the warmth of the tree-lined circle to our dark bunks. The campfire scent would come with me as I scooted deep beneath the covers to fight the chill. I don’t think I’ll ever feel as safe again.

Leave a Reply