Clotheslines

As a child my mother would stand like a queen on her porch and admire her kingdom below. She refused to speak to our next door neighbors who had an umbrella clothesline in the center of their lawn that they used to dry their underwear and sheets. She hired her gardener to plant a row evergreens to hide the view.

I love clotheslines. You might say I am obsessed. When I see them on my walks I stop and admire them.

Friday our neighbors had three white towels hanging on their clothesline on their tenement porch.

"Look, it's the trio of the grayish white towels. Dorthea Lange would photograph this," I said to my husband.

Saturday it was four mottled mauve towels, "Look, today it's four in purply-pink," I said to my husband who is used to this.

This morning when I woke up the sun was hitting a string of colorful baby clothes and two pairs of the father's big olive green shorts were draped and pinned on the line. The man belonging to these shorts was wearing camouflage shorts holding his pink newborn baby with one hand supporting her head as he spoke to his wife on the sidewalk below.

Why do I love clotheslines. Perhaps because they are ephemeral stories, often colorful. They're like prayer flags.

May we live to wear these clean clothes tomorrow.