While doing some reading today before hitting my 50 degree basement for some project time, I decided to run the furnace fan to get some warm air down there. Out the window, big puffy wet flakes fell quietly while the roar of the fan blared on in unwanted dissonance.
So I turned the fan off and became part of the silence of snowfall. It was as glorious as could be.
As I pondered the joy of solitude, silence and all things woodstove related, I heard someone in the distance start up one helluva motor. Maybe a chipper? The moment was lost. Dissonance soon returned, but this time within my own mind as I thought of the silence I've likely destroyed while processing my wood. Suddenly the innocent pleasure of burning comes with some guilt, but not enough to ever go back.
Later (now) the wind has picked up, the horizon is obscured, and all I hear is it, some cracking of the stove as a burn winds down, and the dog licking itself.
Life is good.
So I turned the fan off and became part of the silence of snowfall. It was as glorious as could be.
As I pondered the joy of solitude, silence and all things woodstove related, I heard someone in the distance start up one helluva motor. Maybe a chipper? The moment was lost. Dissonance soon returned, but this time within my own mind as I thought of the silence I've likely destroyed while processing my wood. Suddenly the innocent pleasure of burning comes with some guilt, but not enough to ever go back.
Later (now) the wind has picked up, the horizon is obscured, and all I hear is it, some cracking of the stove as a burn winds down, and the dog licking itself.
Life is good.