Burning Desire

I was chomping at the bit to burn up the tree limbs and brush pile in my yard; so yesterday I had me a conflagration.

Actually it was very much under control: I had the garden hose and various tools at the ready and burned the material in a controlled manner, methodically consuming the pile throughout the day. By bedtime I was down to three or four logs and a pile of ashes, which I carefully coaxed through the night.

Today I have a clean, white mound of powdery ash.

I really enjoy burning wood, especially in the fall. First, it smells great! Doing it right is kind of like solving a puzzle: can you get the fire to do exactly what you want it to? It usually means hours of silence and solitude, which is great for thought, prayer and contemplation. Burning sure feels manly. And afterward, when the tools are put away and the embers have died, the yard looks so clean and ready for the ice and snow of winter.


P.S. I almost took King Lear with me to finish while I waited by the fire. The notion appealed to me and the smoke would have made the book smell fantastic but the soot would have ruined it. And I just can't bear to ruin a book.