Housework, Summertime



Our washing machine busies itself; zips and buttons catch the inverted dome of glass door, add chinks of percussion to the comforting rumble.
The sky lies low, hot, heavy with cloud: one imagines it panting, a grey dog.
I wonder if a storm is due, but the birds are not silent. They chirrup shrill from branches and guttering pipes.
The rain has stopped. The house is cluttered, though clean.
Thoughts light on the next bout of clearing in our small space.
We have a dream, we work towards it.
Meanwhile, one admires the absence of dust.
It is still not raining as the washing cycle spins out.
Washing on the line is blue and white, beach hut colours.


Comments

Heather Robinson said…
I never tire of your fine writing and the blips of being in your fine daily life.
PS. Yep, this is me, formally Lost in Provence but since I linked up with Google +, trying to be more modern, all has gone kablooey.
17 June 2013 at 23:04
Lisa Southard said…
Hello Heather- I have a real name now too! It does seem simpler, which is okay, I think. Your compliment is very much appreciated, thank you :-)
19 June 2013 at 00:23
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Never-Ending Shed Story: Part Two

Image
Day 8: We waited for cooler hours before loading up the van, intent on finishing the shed build. The Shed Saga finale! We were optimistically wrong, of course, though the roof felt was tacked down, and both the fascia and the perched diamond of finial were drilled in. The field grass was looking parched, it was the colour of wheat biscuits. Crickets chirped- they always sound merry. We were hot and sticky like two marinated chunks. ‘It looks like a shed,’ we observed, surprised. ‘We should get the doors hinged!’ But our stomachs were growling and we were clumsy-tired. The doors would have to be another adventure. Meanwhile, it was time for cooking burgers in the van, for getting our stable sofa bed ready for a well-earned sleep, for setting up one table and two chairs under the sweep of the ash tree, looking down across the lower field as the sun dipped behind us and the nearly-full pink-faced moon rose up from the tree line on the opposite hill. We fetched out our reclining chairs, im
Read more

The Importance Of Losing When Pounced By Hyenas

Image
Work continues on preparing the flat areas for seeding with grass and clover. We have a new routine of stopping at County Tyres to fill the van with their cast-offs, before getting to the land, unrolling one bay’s worth of weed suppressant membrane, weighing it down with one line of stinky rubber and one line of soil dug from the stony ground. By then we are overheated, feel like we’ve been dunked in vaseline, decide that will do for the day, and snort at ourselves for thinking all of this would be done in a few hours. Usually, we head home for a nap, but sometimes we have company. On this particular day, we are hosting a family picnic- the gazebo is up, some rudimentary furniture is brought from the stable, the cold box is unpacked, salad is chopped. Grandchildren 6 & 7 are here with their Mum, they are ‘helping’ which they are surprised to discover does not include rolling the tyres down the hill. Being made to attempt to recover the tyres does dampen their enthusiasm- G7 informe
Read more

Dear Autumn

Image
This year, here, the Equinox has slipped by: not shy, not overlooked, more elegant, understated. This year, here, Autumn steps quietly, her satin gown spun from late summer sun, nut-bronze, gold-stitched. Her jewels are hedge-fruits, her crown is copperleaf. Where she steps the earth is rich with mulch, and tree branches bend, weighted by their crop. She is kind and stern, for all of this should be enough. We are in the garden, licking blackberry juice from purple fingers, picking out thorns, reaching for apples to eat, picking up windfalls to brew, glad to be here, this and every year. In our fields we pluck sloes, and more blackberries. Logs are stacked for longer nights. We feel the sun, smoothly warm, and the crackle of cold in the air: it is more than enough.  It is the seasonal rhythm of life. Dear Autumn, we thank you for this abundance, we honour you by the work of harvest and stores. When winter treads in you will be with us in jars, in hot bubbles of fruit, in the rich f
Read more