Ricked splits of maple, alder, fir— cross-stacked against damp— wait so long, a blue mold rinds the wood, shed of its bark and soaked through.   Once in the stove, cold and wet as thawed, coarse-cut meat, these pieces are reluctant to let go the heat at their hearts.   To coax flame from their locked rooms, feign ignorance of fire’s cunning, and how its many ton (...)