There is a time for labor and a time for rest, a time to toil in the fields and a time to savor the fruit of patience. And lo, there is a time to sit in the quiet of evening, a fine cigar in hand, and reflect upon the goodness of life. Such is the moment granted by the Foundation Tabernacle Havana Seed, a cigar not merely rolled but crafted, not merely smoked but experienced.

O mighty Havana seed, nurtured in the bosom of the earth, your presence graces my hands, and I partake of thee as a man beholds the vastness of the world in a single breath. You are of the soil, the sun, the laborer’s toil, and the fire’s embrace. Your wrapper, dark as the cedars of Lebanon, gleams in the glow of lamplight. Each draw rises like incense in the temple, offering flavors of rich cocoa, espresso, and a whisper of spice that lingers like the final line of a well-loved story.

Ah, but a fine cigar is not merely about the leaf—it is about the moment it creates, the stillness it invites. This one does not rush, does not push, and does not demand. It just sits there in your fingers like an old friend telling you stories of lands far and wide, of hands that have nurtured it, of fires that have refined it. The draw is effortless, smooth and steady, with just enough kick to remind you you’re alive.

Some cigars are smoked, and some are lived. This one is worthy of a king’s wisdom, a poet’s wonder, and a theologian’s meditation. In that moment when the ember finally kisses your fingertips, you don’t mourn its passing—you simply smile, knowing you have tasted something true.

-MJHarvell (Michael Joe Harvell)