Sunday, lavender, and green

Today these words smell like lavender
turning inside the damp backs
of cotton shirts drying in the humid gray.
Waiting for Sunday to launder a week’s worth
of child’s play seems fitting. I am in great company,
the crickets choir, a summer rumbling,
strands of wild green. The smell of laundry
hanging outside, drying on the line, an aroma
turning into the week end, dripping its clean
between the webbed blades overgrown
like the limbs of children,
like the responsibilities of the day.

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Categories: Photography, Writing

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