Laundry tumbled onto my bed for sorting, the day is ending. Two large bedroom windows face the woods behind us; they are open and the early evening breathes softly into the room.
All whites, his into the dresser with tops on the left and bottoms on the right. Mine, just the opposite. Untangling the confusion of socks, bringing peace and order into the drawers. White shirts crackle with static, clinging gently to one another in the closet.
Meanwhile, the birds in the woods are conversing about their day. They are chirping, tweeting, whistling, and chattering. Some have a sweet song to repeat. The sun is long since down, a little bit of light still illuminates the forest; it is fading fast, and the birds hurry to get the last word in the treetops.
Laundry is settled, the basket put back into the closet, the light outside is nearly gone, but the tweeter continues until his story is told. It must have been a good day.
1 comment:
One of my teacher friends has pointed me to the singer Carrie Newcomer. She sings and plays guitar. In one of her songs, "Holy as the Day is Spent," she includes these lyrics:
"Holy is the familiar room
and quiet moments in the afternoon
and folding sheets like folding hands
to pray as only laundry can."
Your sock drawer reminded me of her song.
You would enjoy the class in Creative Nonfiction Writing at CCC. That's the kind of writing you are doing in these lovely blogs.
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