A Grated Respite

Stepping down from the hydrant, my birch cane guided my evening stroll toward an iron cellar grate recessed along the stone foundation. Down within the shallow masonry well, a warm, steady updraft rose through the metal bars, carrying the muffled, rhythmic hum of an indoor boiler. Testing the width of the slats with the ferrule of my cane, I found the ironwork perfectly spaced. I carefully lowered myself onto a crossbar, resting my boots against the masonry wall. Leaning my cane against the mortared ledge, I clasped both skeletal hands upon my knees, well pleased by the heated parlor air ascending through my ribs into the autumn night.