Clothesline

She did her thinking while hanging damp clothes on the line. There was something calming about the one person assembly line. Pick up, snap, hang, pin, pin, repeat. It was an easy pattern, one that her mind could follow by memory and let her thoughts drift away.

Today it was the whites -towels, sheets, socks, t shirts. Their brightness was a sharp contrast against the deep green of thick spring grass. She let her gaze soften until all she truly saw was a blur of white against the green. She liked it that way. She was lost in the moment, as lost as she could be while hanging clothes.

It was morning but hot. Southern springs are pretty close to most area’s summers. She felt the stray hairs sticking to the back of her sticky neck. The air felt heavy around her and she wondered if the towels would ever dry. She let the thought slip away, deciding that wasn’t something she should worry about.

Insects flitted around, playing games of tag, darting between the towels and sheets. She heard their buzz and occasionally felt them graze her arm or cheek.

They didn’t bother her, she enjoyed the company.

Her hand rose to snap a pin in place. She paused and focused on the skin on the back of her hand and was puzzled. She wondered when the skin had darkened and wrinkled. She could have sworn it wasn’t that way the day before.

She bent to the wicker basket for a shirt and just as with her hand she paused to notice that her back creaked as she stooped. She rose, astounded by her discovery, and held the shirt in her wrinkled hands. She was afraid to move, afraid at what else she would determine had suddenly grown old.

The wind blew her hair across her face. She could see it, course and gray, as it whipped with the wind. She wondered when she’d lost her youth – the years seemed to have slipped right past her.

A towel snapped on the line, carried by the undeniable wind. She looked in that direction, smiled and began pinning the shirt on the line.