The day had been long, the kind of day that leaves the mind heavy and the body tired. Evening settled in with a soft breeze, and I stepped out into the side yard, matchbox in hand and a La Herencia Cubana CORE tucked between my fingers. The sound of the evening hummed like an old hymn, steady and faithful.

I struck the match, and the flame came alive quick and fierce, as though it had been waiting for this moment. I kissed the fire to the foot of the cigar, and the CORE answered back with a crackle, like kindling catching in a fire pit. The first draw rolled across my tongue — pepper, leather, earth. Bold, unashamed. It didn’t ask permission to be strong; it simply was.

The smoke rose thick into the twilight, curling like a story told slow. And with every puff, the world seemed to ease its grip, the noise of the day falling away until it was just me, the rocking chair, and the steady heartbeat of the cigar. Hemingway once said the world breaks everyone, and afterward some are strong at the broken places. That’s what this stick tasted like — strong at the broken places.

As the CORE burned on, the flavors shifted — a little coffee, a little cocoa, something sweet hiding under the pepper. It reminded me of grace, that hidden sweetness God tucks into life’s harder seasons. You don’t always taste it right at first, but if you stay with it, it comes through.

By the halfway mark, the cigar had found its rhythm. Strong, but steady. Like a man who’s walked through storms and learned how to keep moving forward. Each draw felt less like smoke and more like a sermon in the evening air: life is hard, but it is also good. Bitter and sweet, strength and rest, all rolled into one.

When I finally laid it down, the ash told the story — long, even, and true. And the finish stayed with me, earthy and rich, the way an old conversation with a trusted friend lingers in your memory long after the words have faded.

The CORE isn’t just a cigar. It’s a journey. It’s a reminder that life is meant to be smoked slow, savored, and reflected upon. On a porch. In the quiet. With time to listen to the stories the smoke is telling.

-MJHarvell