“Ash Falls Slow”
By BR Wilson, Guitars & Cigars
There’s a moment
right before the flame takes
where the world still thinks it owns you.
Phones buzzing.
Engines running.
People talking just to hear themselves exist.
Then
fire.
Not loud.
Not wild.
Just a quiet agreement
between leaf and hand.
And everything…
slows.
Smoke curls like old stories
you don’t have to finish.
It rises
unbothered by clocks,
unconcerned with outcomes.
You draw
not to escape,
but to arrive.
Right here.
Chair creaking.
Glass sweating beside you.
The day loosening its grip.
First third
sharp like memory.
Second
round like forgiveness.
Final
deep…
like the kind of silence
that doesn’t need filling.
No rush.
No finish line.
Just burn… and breath… and time behaving itself.
Out here,
there’s no algorithm.
No metrics.
No scoreboard for living.
Just you…
and a ritual older than noise.
A quiet rebellion
rolled in leaf and patience.
Ash falls slow
like it’s got nowhere else to be.
And for once…
neither do you.
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