The house sat solitary in a meadow. The summer yellows and oranges poured on the grasses of the field, forcing the sprouts and small flowers to stretch and expand in the fullness of the warm sun. Their tiny purple pedals and white centers were only overlooked by the lonely family that lived inside of the two story wooden abode. The house itself was a deep brown, crafted and shaped from the thick forest that surrounded the island meadow. Its small windows let in some light, but never enough to really illuminate the dismal corners of the cottage, where insects and small creatures found that it was a perfect place to create thriving communities. While the exterior of the house, being typical of a wooden cottage, (undecorated and boring in appearance), the interior was lavishly decorated with native ornaments, glass sculptures, animal furs from across the continent and large thick wooden furniture, upholstered with soft leather, stuffed with feathers. Floor rugs and tapestries decorated the large expanse of floor space and walls. Yet the most peculiar of all the things in the entirety of the house was atop the marble fireplace. Above the mantel sat the only framed photograph in the entire house. Surrounded by various trinkets from across the globe, (all with individual stories of creation), the photograph produced its own illumination that could only match that of the midday sun, which beamed down on the roof and meadow with angry vengeance. The photograph was of the house, but surrounded by snow, white washed and blinding. The family, consisting of a father, mother and one set of twin boys, stood stoic and expressionless in front of the wood pile. Yet the house, despite never having a living thing inside (besides the insects and various pests), was always kept clean and neat. The wood in the fire place was burning consistently and evenly, without it never needing more wood or prodding. And as the seasons changed, the family in the photograph, forever still, adjusted too. Caught forever in the moment of time, the world within the frozen picture always changed, slowly, with the seasons, but the people never moved. As summer heat melted the snows of the mountains in the surrounding scenery, the snows fell in the photo. And as the world was freezing outside of the small cottage, the warmness of summer livened the world of the still photo. Trapped forever, the family in front of the wood pile always remained still in the changing chaos that surrounded them.
March 3, 2011