It changes

This whole house burned to the ground, no one was home. It was a summer house, on the side of small mountain, and it was the middle of the winter. The fire department couldn't do anything. It had been snowing for days and the driveway hadn't been plowed. There was no one to plow the driveway, no one was home. This house burned completely freely, from start to finish, with no interference. It started, consumed everything it could, and went out by itself, steaming for days. I think it was a fuse, something like that, it was in the paper. It wasn't arson, it wasn't really even neglect. It just happened. It was an exothermic chemical reaction, acting on the material at hand, surrounded by a widening ring of snow. And in the end, every object was a fact. Every object had been one thing and now was something else. Every object had had a purpose and a life, a place, had all the attachments of the people who used them, remembered them, liked them or didn't. Every object is itself and is also a chain of everything it has ever been and everything it has ever meant.