Sunlight
Dapples the long white laundry line.
Holding the plastic basket
On my sore hip
I lift a battered, hand-knitted
Cream-colored dishcloth
And hang it on the line.
A monarch butterfly flits about the yard
And a daring mourning dove
Tries to settle herself
On the laundry line.
I watch the line
Swaying in the cool breeze.
The sun dances across
The towels
And splatters them with color
Like an artist’s palette
Dotted with creamy-yellow paint.
Hanging the last towel
I step back to survey my work.