Clothes
Like little Buddhist flags summoning the heavens with their bright, vibrant colours, the clotheshorse, which has now found its place of honour in the kitchen was littered with an array of inner, middle and outer wear.
Fishing out a tangled mesh of trousers, t-shirts, night shirt, towel, brassieres, underwear I marvelled at how hem crossed hem and button holes made brief applique designs before being wrenched out.
Throwing the pile of semi moist garments on the dinning table which also doubles up as writing table, being listless table and occasional laptop table, I proceeded to untangle the pile.
Like relations they were meshed in each other's beings. Arm held arm, trouser leg clinged to a towel, napkins were caught in a twirl, the endless chattering going on amidst the smaller fellows...I arrived on the scene - the proverbial party popper.
Separate, dust, hang. Match the corner to the corner. Not a crease there. Proceed to the next. Took me all of 15 minutes to untangle each garment from the community it had formed during its brief sojourn in the machine.
The clotheshorse was a picture. Neatly arranged rows of outer wear under which lay the inner wear. A bird's eye view would have revealed my picture perfect division of his from mine. Not a thread out of place. Not even a kerchief on a side where it did not belong. I am the supreme decider!! yea!
The kitchen was slightly damp from the clothes.
Their moist fragrance raking up memories from the past, creating new notches from which notions of home hung, gingerly at times, sturdy as a tailor bird's nest at others.
The sight of drying clothes, fragrance of drying clothes, the hiss of hot steam against freshly washed cottons, the crisp, starched cottons...
My little Buddhist flags were well on their way to give me an identity far beyond my expectations and hope. They were building a place called home, filling it with their presence. Giving it their fragrance. A place of deepest succor, of familiar smells, sights and sounds.
My little Buddhist flags fluttered gently as the evening breeze blew in through the half open window and then, as I imagined, continued to say their little prayer for a place called home.
Fishing out a tangled mesh of trousers, t-shirts, night shirt, towel, brassieres, underwear I marvelled at how hem crossed hem and button holes made brief applique designs before being wrenched out.
Throwing the pile of semi moist garments on the dinning table which also doubles up as writing table, being listless table and occasional laptop table, I proceeded to untangle the pile.
Like relations they were meshed in each other's beings. Arm held arm, trouser leg clinged to a towel, napkins were caught in a twirl, the endless chattering going on amidst the smaller fellows...I arrived on the scene - the proverbial party popper.
Separate, dust, hang. Match the corner to the corner. Not a crease there. Proceed to the next. Took me all of 15 minutes to untangle each garment from the community it had formed during its brief sojourn in the machine.
The clotheshorse was a picture. Neatly arranged rows of outer wear under which lay the inner wear. A bird's eye view would have revealed my picture perfect division of his from mine. Not a thread out of place. Not even a kerchief on a side where it did not belong. I am the supreme decider!! yea!
The kitchen was slightly damp from the clothes.
Their moist fragrance raking up memories from the past, creating new notches from which notions of home hung, gingerly at times, sturdy as a tailor bird's nest at others.
The sight of drying clothes, fragrance of drying clothes, the hiss of hot steam against freshly washed cottons, the crisp, starched cottons...
My little Buddhist flags were well on their way to give me an identity far beyond my expectations and hope. They were building a place called home, filling it with their presence. Giving it their fragrance. A place of deepest succor, of familiar smells, sights and sounds.
My little Buddhist flags fluttered gently as the evening breeze blew in through the half open window and then, as I imagined, continued to say their little prayer for a place called home.
Nice to see you building a place called home.
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