I passed the cemetery just a few blocks from home and saw the smoke, the fire burning–a first time in five years of passing by with a smell that carried all the way to my door and inside reminding me of the smell of my grandmother’s kitchen from plucking chickens and setting fire to the small residuals from feathers, while releasing them from the body. Two paths of aromas:  one leads to where we all leave this world and the other to one who has already gone. ©Roseroberta