Smudge Sticks

Walking the dog this morning I couldn’t help but wonder what all she’s made of. What atoms and such, what animal spirit resides in there, what things - intangible and not - make up this being I’ve come to love so much? Where will all of those things go when she dies?

Will I bury her out back, under the hundred year old cottonwoods that were here long before me or her? Will her yellow, fluffy fur, her velvet ears, her crooked hips, and her worried eyes eventually give way to spring bulbs? 

Or will all of that former life contribute to a fertile patch of soil where sagebrush takes root, eventually getting clipped, bundled, and wrapped with a lavender-colored embroidery thread? Will it sit in a hand-woven basket on some shelf in the plaza until it’s sold to tourists who visit Taos, looking for a piece of this magical land to take home with them?

They’ll get more than that, though. They’ll get a story without words, one that they can feel in their hearts all the same, like a song that can’t be placed or a smell from decades passed or words on the tip of a tongue. 

They’ll return to their Dallas suburbs, their California coasts, their New England neighborhoods and put the bundle of sage on a windowsill, picking it up to breath in its earthly scent every so often, conjuring up images of terracotta-colored homes and playful adobe walls that hide bountiful lavender bushes and summer gardens. 

Then one day, when they need a clear head, crave a dose of spirituality, or maybe just to rid their apartment of an ex’s bad energy, they’ll grab the sage bundle they bought from the Taos souvenir shop years before and light its dry, fragile tips. They’ll carry it through each room of their house before setting it on a ceramic plate to burn out, releasing sweet-smelling smoke all the while. 

And there she will be. Floating towards the ceiling or out the cracked window, lingering on the wind, filling the nostrils of a different girl and her dog, walking by, making their way through life just like we did on this bright, cold morning.