It isn’t spring until
I venture out,
arms laden,
and set laundry to dance
on the taut nylon line
in the brisk, zephyrous air.
Sheets snap, flap and flutter,
absorb a medley of scent,
releasing it when I sink
into the embrace
of my newly-made bed.
I inhale the essence
of the sun-kissed, breezy day,
content at its end.
Nix the comfort zone 
Oh, Molly, I love your way with words.
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Thanks, Sue! Fresh, line-dried sheets are an inspiration! 🙂
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Just reading it makes me feel comfy! I can smell that fresh scent, too.
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I Haven’t used a clothesline in 21 years since I lived in France. The feeling of hose freshly dried clothesline sheets WAS grand. Thanks for triggering my memory with your beautiful poem.
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I could smell the freshness as I read your words. It’s been many years since we’ve lived where we could hang clothes on the line. I remember the many times I helped my Mom hang the sheets out and the years that I followed in that ritual. Thanks for sharing.
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This is so good fluttery! I used to do diapers for my first born in ’68 and took them in from the line folded and smelled so good for new baby until they didn’t again. Remember it well. Love you photos❤️🐺😍
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Beautiful! Such precise and powerful words. I can almost smell and feel those clean sheets. And I don’t think it is cheating at all that you wrote this yesterday. I often write before Tuesday.
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When Hannah and I would finish hanging clothes outside on our umbrella clothes line in Tempe, Arizona, the first ones we hung would be dry. Now in Maine we hang clothes on our line from spring through fall. That signifies that we made it through winter!
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