To Everything There is a Season

We mark the passing of the seasons through laundry: Socks turns from black to white and back again; sleeves grow longer then shorter then longer again; fabrics shed weight and texture, then fatten up.

Bright colored T-shirts and (in a month or so) sleeveless blouses drip dry from the shower rod. There are the requisite black Ts of course, but they hang alongside melon, lime, and raspberry—the flavors of the season. Pumpkin, red, and gold would seem incongruous now.

Everything takes a little longer to dry now that the heat has been turned off, but the air around the laundry rack is cool and moist, and the scent of fabric softener creates the illusion of having my own clothesline in the sun. If I close my eyes I can picture the fabric rippling in the breeze. And in the morning, the day seems brighter when I’m greeted by a drawer full of freshly laundered clothes.

Like the food we eat, the clothes we wear—and launder—change with the seasons.

Laundry is in sync with nature.

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