May 26, 2011
The clothesline presents an opportunity for creative expression
My favorite memory of clothes on the line is sheets hung between two lines. The parabolic “u” it shaped. They were crisp on the bed and smelled like fresh air. Yellow jackets built nests inside the poles sometimes and came in with the laundry. The bag for the pins hung right on the line, didn’t it? And sometimes the yellow jackets would get in there, too. When I was little, I would hoist myself from one end of the line to the other, imagining a rushing river. Once I got to the end, bumped the metal pipe, and got stung about the neck and face. I fell in the river that time, running for the house. I vaguely remember running between clothes hanging like a maze. Mother had three lines, one higher in the middle. We would take naps there. Sometimes overnight. We started out ten. I woke up, eight. A couple of hours later it might be just sister and me. I grabbed her hand and we were headed for the back door. Later, they would say, “There was something in the woods.”
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I hope y’all forgive me.
This is beautiful, Deron.
It reads like life feels.
I love you Deron.