I love hanging my laundry out between squalls. The uncertain sky seems to be full of old songs and wild white dream wings. When I bring the clothes in again, they smell like magic. They rustle in my arms, still restless with hill-tossed wind.
Besides, when you hang your clothes outside, whether on a line, a rack, or over bushes, you get them more than just dry. There's always a certain fragrance to them, a spice of rivers and neighbourhood roses and pine. There's a weight that feels as if they have grown a skin of sky.
I love also the vulnerability of line-drying laundry. Spreading out the sheets you sleep between, the petticoats you wear beneath dresses - opening that sacred private space for the air to touch, and breathe upon, so that when you lay the cloth once more against your skin, you feel as if the air is touching you too. Seems to me that line-drying brings us more into the real world.
I was walking home today and watching the horizon darken, and thinking that I might not be able to get my laundry done although I really needed to. But I knew I would try anyway. Because what I love most is the time inbetween. Watching the sky and wondering about rain. It's in that space that I spread my soul out, in vulnerability and hope, to the air that is full of wind and dreams and stories and god.
Sharing with A Wise Woman & A Delightsome Life. Also may I recommend to you Leonie Wise, she takes such beautiful photographs. And for a little charming delight, Kristen Booth, who specialises in fairytale wedding photography.