Your Custom Text Here
And - there it was.
The perfect summer's day.
Suspended.
The wind blowing.
The sun shining.
Waiting.
Right there - hanging - in front of me.
* * *
For those of you who have been with me for awhile - you know of my love for laundry.
You can see more here.
Always - I seek out the practice of hanging laundry.
An art - all unto its own.
Every clothesline - is new.
New colors. New patterns. New shapes.
Every day - is different.
Clouds. Sun. Hot. Cold. Rain or snow.
In some ways - it's like folk art...a reflection of local culture and lore.
Not a surprise - at all - that I should find it here again.
Some days - I don't know.
Where I'm going. What's my next step. What to do first. What to do second. After that.
They say it's okay. That it's good.
They tell me to find comfort in this discomfort.
To embrace it.
To learn to live within the endless questions.
Just one thing.
Sweep the dust.
Wash the floors.
Hang the laundry.
Watch and wait .
It will dry. The answers will come.
There's no color. There's little life.
What of the beauty?
What of the light?
The skiers are lamenting the lack of white. I - too - am missing the snow. It doesn't feel like winter - quite.
Some days - I don't know.
I have no answers.
I do have this.
* * *
For those of you who have been with me for awhile...
you know how much I love hanging laundry.