Це суперіронічно

Відкрила Елізабет Додд, виявила, що це не наука, а художня есеїстика, закрила.
Перед тим, як закрити, в черговий раз прозріла і проржала.
В одном з попередніх дописів я писала, як довелося розпалювати пічку роздрукованою книгою Торо на кліматичному таборі, щоб врятувтися від дощу.
І от!))
Let’s face it. I am having a love affair with my wood stove.
When I fi rst started living alone again, for the fi rst time in
fi fteen years, I thought the stove might become rather like a
pet, keeping me company on long empty evenings. His name is
Walden, and he fi ts exactly in the large limestone hearth of the
fi replace that, so far as I can tell, was never functional in this
house. Oh, there were fi xtures from a fake log gas insert, but
I mean a real fi re, one that is messy and leaves ash and smoke
curling around in little aromatic, insistent moments of being.
Walden would crackle and maybe purr, and I’d sit on my pale
couch and cry, or try not to cry, and sometimes fi ddle with the
television to see whether I couldn’t somehow properly adjust
the picture tint.