Furnace

It sits down the stairs, a turn to the left, and behind a organized, well-balanced stack of boxes.

It rests on claw shaped feet. It is squat, barrel shaped, heavy-looking, and jet black.  A slotted door is at its front, and through small openings, gray ash is still seen coating the inside of the housing. A cylindrical black protrusion juts from the top, into the ceiling, then disappears behind the upper walls of the house.

It has been vacant of wood fuel for many years.  This long outdated means of providing heat replaced by a newer, simpler, easier option.

Cables connect to the house, feed in to the breaker box, powering modems, routers, controllers, and digital panels in each room accessed through the internet, and simply accessible by the push of a button on the owners smart phone.  Electronic heating elements are programmed to respond, engaging the panels and baseboard, all at his behest, and without having to leave the couch, thus, potentially uncomfortable, minute shifts in outside temperature are negated without even standing up.

Despite these advancements, the owner never took the ducting from the house, nor removed the blackened iron heater from the basement.

It is deeply rooted in his mind that he can always take up an axe, use the sweat of his brow, the force of his muscles, and the power of his will to fell a tree, chop it into useful pieces, and feed the furnace inside.

Humbly yours,

J

 

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