Hang the Washing

She liked to sit outside and fold her washing on the grass. Where the sun warmed her skin. Where she could be free from the burdens, that kept her from all the things she would rather do. She loved to hang the washing. She loved the smell, and the way the light got tangled in the sheets. She loved to pull it off the wire- crisp, dry and sun-clean. She mostly didn’t use pegs and the clothes sprawled across the lawn. Sometimes she stood with her back to the line, and threw it over her head hoping for a fluke. Wet socks and undies always just got draped over the edge of the basket. She sometimes forgot to hang the washing. It got washed a few more times. And the world kept on turning, and the sun kept shining, and she didn’t lose a wink of sleep.