BURNING THE DECK james yates

The guy who lived here before used the maple floor of an old gym for the deck. Maple burns nice and quick, but it’s well past worthless as a deck. I tried to keep it safe and sound from the rain and heat and snow, but the more I tried, the worse it got. I tore up half of it last summer, where the planks had snapped and fallen through.

In October, I broke apart the second half, finished dismantling the rotten boards in November and burning just before Christmas.

Down here I find a kind of peace. After the wife and son are asleep, I creep down here, light broken wood, sit, in the dark, Guinness and pipe in hand, music in the background, brief roaring heat in front.

I wonder if this is passion, taking the old, worn wood of yesterday and burning it alone in the dark, snow piling up outside, puffing smoke and tossing back beer alone.

I wonder if this is faith, feeling the heat fire up from the rotted planks of the past to burn hot and smoky, giving warmth and glow in the cold.

I wonder if God has moments like this. I take a puff, a swallow, and toss on another plank.