It’s really hard to describe what smoke looks like.
Try it if you don’t believe me. Because smoke is really just smoke.
I blew out a candle yesterday afternoon and watched as a crazy amount of smoke went up in the air when the flame was extinguished. I just sat and watched it for a minute, taking in all the detail because you rarely see a cloud of smoke in your house during the day when you can just sit and look at it.
Because I’m a little crazy about words, I pulled out my notebook and started writing down a description of the smoke.
It swirls up in thick white ribbons.
Curling into itself and away from itself.
You’d expect it to feel soft like velvet if you could touch it without having it just push away.
It moves quickly and slowly all at the same time. It moves left and right. Up and down. All at once.
It is both predictable in that it will move when you breathe on it and unpredictable in that you don’t know what form it will take when it’s prodded.
It stretches as high as it can in thin white currents before it disappears.
Or I could have just said: the swirls of smoke drifted towards the ceiling.
You basically get the same picture.