Sofa Throw Finale
Dog announces her recovery from a bout of fatigue by sneaking next door to scent herself with chicken poop. The day is all crisp blue and white like a toothpaste commercial. This morning the washing is clipped to lines that sparkle ice and each garment emits a cloud of steam. Yesterday we thought that the sky had found a store of winter at the back of an old snow cloud, and we had no expectations for this brewing warmth. In celebration, windows are opened, carpets swept. Washing is hung out wet and brought in near dry: it only needs an evening of airing out. For a finale, out goes a fresh washed sofa throw. It is not fetched in till after dark. The faux fur has an ice crunch to it and tiny beads twinkle under electric light.