The Piano House
Reclamation
I imagine the vines and brambles that have reached and rounded the roofline somehow, over the course of decades contracting and drawing the structure into the earth’s flesh like tentacles of a jellyfish surrounding its prey pulling it slowly toward a patiently awaiting mouth.
A few objects were left within. A piano upon which were played sonatas that still hover in the ether blended with the temperaments of their players whose bodies have long since been reclaimed. A battered and empty cabinet that once held plates and tea cups that saw countless mealtime exchanges both impassioned and mundane. A red rusting lawnmower discarded inside after it had served out its useful life and the house had served out its role as a home.
Eventually the tangled and woody web will indeed pull into the soil the old house and all its history. At once both reassuring and dreadful is the notion that the earth eventually reclaims all that was drawn from it.
