White sheets and shirts hanging upside down on a gray rope.  This is my favorite image of summer.  Sure photos of sandy beaches and candy sunsets are beautiful.  Of course, I love the blooms of a mid-summer garden or those quintessential cotton clouds hanging still in a brilliant blue haze.  Those images are, undeniably, lovely.  But, for me, it is the image of a clothesline that says – summer.

Clothelines are slow and steady.  They don’t succumb to the fast pace of what is happening outside our backyards.  I suppose that’s one of the reasons I feel partial to them.  My summer days don’t languish the way they did when I was young.  They don’t creep along, with their minutes ticking at half-time.  Now, they are speeding arrows – organized, planned, and dictatorial.  Clubs, coaches, teachers, and schedules overrun the irresponsibility of summer that I crave for myself and my family.  I find myself digging for lost time.

And so, I turn to the comfort of a clothesline – and its promise of a crisp, fresh bed or a sun-bleached shirt – fresh starts at the end of a frantic day.


One response »

  1. I always think of my grandmothers’ clothelines when summer comes. I can still hear the squeak of the wheel and see the bottom rope dipping low to the ground, heavy with sheets and towels. Fon memories of a much simpler time 🙂

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