Abstraction

The house stands in the center of a field.

The building is painted yellow, chipping and peeling in places, revealing the black tar that coats the wood paneling. The entrance, always ajar, sits wide and gaping, its door completely removed. No hinges of the past remain; no door-frame is left resembling the once closed passageway.

Peering within this open space, a kitchen sits tidy and clean, unused but awaiting occupancy. A pink topped table stands alone in the center of the kitchen, uncluttered by dishware or chairs. A small brown box sits atop the table, perfectly placed. Two strings emerge from tiny holes in the box. The wire is thin but strong, tightly wound and taught with unknown weight at the other end.

The first wire stretches straight as an arrow, exiting the doorway and traveling into the golden tall grass which so clutters the field as hair inhabits a head. At the end of the wire, a dog sits, tied at its neck, ceasing its ability to progress further into the field, further into the world. It stares outward with dim eyes, focused on the far expanses of reality, back turned to the house from whence it inevitably came.

The second wire is loose, snaking out of the doorway on the ground and slithering through the grass. The end of the wire meets the center of a tree. It seems to enter the tall, leafy beast and end within its trunk. The string is lost in the fibrous flesh of a citizen from the forest.

Time stands still within this scene. Nothing changes, nothing progresses. The dog is happy in its quest for boundary. The tree is proud to be connected with civilization. The doorway is anxious and always open, awaiting new company.

The house stands in the center of the field.