I've been contemplating our fire today.
When we first moved here, we had a fire in our cosy every night. I used to worry that everything I owned would very quickly smell like wood smoke. I had visions of all my beautiful Zurich clothing going rank in the odour of fire.
Today I realised with a little surprise that the fire makes me happy.
It was a cold morning and, since I don't feel too well (flu), I decided to stay inside and restore a little cupboard. To provide a bit of comfort in my misery, Stu started the fire and soon the little rustico was warm.
While I was sanding and painting, the fire was crackling and whirring away and generally doing what it's designed to do. That is, until I got distracted with my painting and sanding and let it die out...several times...
Sometimes at night the fire emits a strange noise and I worry what's it's up to. The other night there was a terrible whistle from the flue and Stu and I looked at each other. I wondered if an animal had fallen down the flue. Stu wondered if white ants squealed when they were being burned.
Noises aside, one thing is certain: I no longer worry about the smell.
Mind you, I suspect this may be because I myself now smell like the fire...!