The world around us speaks to us in many ways.

Observe your body and you may observe your spirit.

I tremble.

Not in fear, or the fear we may know to be senseless.

But in a fear that inspires an awe in and of that which we do not understand.

I want to share something with you gentle reader.

Tonight I met with a friend to celebrate my birthday.

We patronized a local establishment and shared a few beers while smoking cigaretes and waiting for a table outdoors. We wanted to relish the new warmth of spring and extended light of our ridiculous Daylight Savings time. We talked of the simple and complex things of our mundane lives as only he and I can, the simple and complex pains and joys of our modern existence. This is something I share with no other, and it is not always easy, though it is never complicated or difficult.

He gave me simple and beautiful gifts, those gifts of thought that only a friend who knows you deeply and well may bestow upon you. New music on a burned CD, and something reminiscent of younger days:

"This is sage and sweetgrass. Burn it when you wish to clear your thoughts and ease your soul."

"I may use this sooner than later," I told him. "Thank you."

And when he left, I waited, and then stepped outside to light a smoldering fire. "Each ingredient is considered a sacred herb used for centuries by native Americans in their smudging ceremonies. Smudging is the name given to the burning of these herbs for the purposes of cleansing and sending out prayers... Use a container to waft the smoke into your face and breathe it in," read the directions on the string-bound bundle of sage and sweetgrass. And usign my hands as a container, I did.

Thinking of the things come and gone, the things past present and coming, I breathed in the smoke. It burned my nose, stirring sensations not unlike that of eating wasabi. Simple and complex joys. I thought of those here, those far away and of those who have gone. It is for you I think and write tonight.

I gathered detritus from the small patch of garden adjacent to my yard: dried lemon balm, dried sage, dried wildgrass that had knit into a mat, dried spearmint stalks, some still with leaves, and I burned this too in each of the three divisions of my garden. As the flames flew and the smoke rose, I thought of new life and old. Cleansing and growth. I thought of those here, those far away and of those who have gone.

The sounds of my neighborhood echoed through the air, but I was alone. No one would intrude upon me. And there I thought of my failed garden that still gave a humble yield last spring: Lemon balm, sage and spearmint. I've been adding coffee grinds and eggshells, in an effort to enrich the earth in this tiny space once more before moving to a new place this fall. The ashes will remain in the garden, too. I will grow simple things here and share them as I can.

As I finished, I sat and smoked a cigarette, thinking of how important tobacco is and was to the Native Americans. I thought of the Cheyenne Indian named One Stab in Jim Harrison's novella Legends of the Fall. I thought of those who are quick to judge and was sorry for them because they do not understand. I thought Emerson and those who advise us to think for ourselves and cherish our thoughts and independence. It is illegal to have lit fires in Allegheny County, and I thought of Thoreau's Civil Disobedience and how I would speak with my nieghbors and the local authorities should they become concerned about smelling smoke or seeing fire. I thought of proud New Englanders. I thought of many things.

And looking up into the darkened sky above my back yard, a star streaked faintly across the blackened oblivion. I traced its southern-bound path, in disbelief and then smiled in nodding appreciation. Standing and still smoking my cigarette, I thankfully wondered what prompted me to look up in time, only to see a pair of stars trailing east from the same spot. Was it an airplane formation? No, they too quickly flickered out in the sky. And thinking better than to ask for more, I stepped inside wanting to share this experience before it too is gone like a bright flicker in the dark night.

Were they meteorites or satellites? I will never know. But I do know they were part of the the simple and complex joys of a modern existence. And now, behind the soot inadvertently smudged on my face, I smile, happy and sad that the trembling has gone.