Every summer I have a little love affair. I am head-over-heels in love with hanging the laundry on the line. There is a kind of poetry about it. It is a circle-of-life kind of task. Washing the clothes, harnessing them to the line, leaving them to the forces of nature, and then releasing them from the battle to be folded, sweet-smelling with the perfume of the wind, into their drawers and cupboards.

It is an ancient, womanly thing. It is one of those simple tasks that has been done, countless millions of times through history, and as I pin and unpin, I feel their breath in the wind.

As I am doing the laundry today, decorating my yard with the colour and fabric of my family, I pray for each of them. I ask the creator of the sun and the wind to bless the ones I love. The ones who wear the faded tees and the denim blues.

Laundry, today, is a prayer.

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In the midst of writing this post in my head, I read this facebook post by my friend, Nadine. It says it beautifully.

I am having a love affair with my makeshift clothesline. I love experiencing each article of clothing and pondering its purpose and worth. It’s such an act of love, to hang someone’s clothes. Makes me grateful and more mindful of the things I use.

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