I was standing in line waiting to check out when I caught a whiff of the earthy scent. Instantly, I was transformed into a little curly-headed child sitting at my father's feet. I remembered looking at his feet; they were big. He always wore expensive shoes.

"Shoes complete your appearance, " he always said. Often, he gave me the job of shining them. I remember the day he came home with a shoe shine kit; I thought it was a great gift.

He wore shorts now and then; he liked to keep his legs covered.

"A women's legs are a work of art; a man's legs are used for working." A quote he replied to inquiries about why he never showed his legs off.

I was starting at his strong arms when he reached into the side of the recliner and pulled out his favorite pipe.

"Can you run get the matches out of the kitchen for me?" He asked me. I jumped and sprinted into the kitchen in search of his request.

Once I found them, I returned to sit as he feet.

"Thank you," he said, striking a match against the side of the matchbox.

I watched as he took a quick puff, blowing smoke out his nose. The smell filled my senses as I caught a whiff of the earthy odor. It was a relaxing, calming scent.

My father was the ringmaster of smoke. He bent it to do his will, entertaining me as I observed him. Smoke twirled and swirled, twisting around his head. Locomotive sounds came from his throat as he blew multiple puffy clouds into the air.

Sitting on my knees and leaning on his, I watched the smoke dancing around him.

Laughing, he encouraged me to put my fingers through the rings he blew: small ones, medium ones, large ones.

I climbed into his lap after successfully breaking several rings. I felt victorious.

His display of smoky wonders simmered, and he sang me to sleep with his deep, rich, smooth tone as I breathed in the earthy smell coming from his pipe.

"Next! Ma'am, you are holding up the line, " the cashier calls, bringing me back to the present.