What could be nicer than reading the morning paper with a helper?
And there's nothing more luxurious than clean sheets from the solar-powered dryer, smelling of fresh air and sunshine -- complete with wren song.
A poem I wrote years ago:
"Hanging Out the Sheets"
An emerald insect, long, thin,
marquise-cut, beetles in the grass under the clothesline;
the mosquitos are fierce, hungry;
tiny green worms dangle from branches;
webs droop after last night's rain, torn lace.
Yesterday a doe stretched her neck here,
chewed lilac leaves, blew --
stood so near my spying eyes, oblivious,
poked at her nose with a black hoof.
A shot of sunlight touched
the soft inside of her ear, golden, white.
It's a quiet day here, but not for long: Next week Olivia (age 8) and I will be studying entomology (bugs) at Grandparents University (University of Wisconsin) and on the weekend the California kids and grandkids arrive for an extended stay. Then the roller coaster will be full throttle until October.
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