A Perfect Day

It has been another lovely day, despite the weather forecaster predicting cold and back-to-winter weather. There has been a sharp wind, but I gave myself a talking to and went out to attack the garden. I didn’t do anything difficult, just a lot of sweeping of paths which had been encroached on by gravel, grit, all-purpose dirt, dead leaves, twigs, and at the same time trying to stop the dog pursue his archaeological bent and excavate the raised beds. There were some large pots which had contained plants but they had withered and died so I emptied them into the holes and put bricks on top to discourage the digging. I did some tidying and pulled up a few weeds, and clipped a couple of brambles, thinking at the same time what I would do next when I was outside.

By this time I had taken off my sweatshirt, the wind now cooling me rather than chilling me. The sky was a wonderful blue, pale and spring like but clear of any clouds except for a few lurkers on the horizon. The sun was very jolly and pleasant, and I can’t say I enjoyed working outside, but to be fair I didn’t hate it either, and I did feel satisfaction. I think the weather is dues to be similar tomorrow, so I will sweep up the piles of rubbish I’ve left, attack some of the weeds to cut them off before they take a hold, triffid like, and continue clearing the brambly hedge I was having a go at in the autumn. It still is a bit untidy, compared to other people’s but I think there’s hope for us getting to grips with it. The raised beds… well, I’m not sure we will grow vegetables in them again, although a few peas and beans might be nice, but Father Christmas brought me some packets of wild flower seeds so raised wild beds sounds perfect, low maintenance too.

As I was working away I couldn’t help but think what a splendid day it would have been to get a load of washing dry. I know I seem a bit obsessed with the laundry, I’m not really but it is the one thing in my life which I seem to have under control, and the end product, clean, ironed clothes and bedding, is always pleasing and gives a great sense of satisfaction. My daughter thinks I’m strange because I love a tidy airing cupboard – in fact I aspire to be like my cousin whose airing cupboard is a thing of wonder. I’ve shared several small poems here inspired by laundry, for some reason as I’m pegging out the washing, poetic thoughts wander through my mind. Even though I wasn’t doing anything to do with laundry, a little poem appeared which I wrote down when I was back here inside.

A Perfect Day

Sitting by my window
Watching the bamboo thrash,
The brambles nod,
The holm oak shiver,
And the wash line spin,
The sun shines warm
And can’t help but think
A Perfect Day for drying clothes
Is wasted by the empty laundry bins.

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