Leaves Silver

Shimmying leaves silver slivers
Dance in frenzied movement stirred
Without a word
I marvel as the cool wind sends shivers
My vision falls, peruses
Upon a backdrop of orange and yellow hues

Across the yard my laundry hangs
Like ghosts the sheets wave in the wind
And kitchen linen
I brush my fingers through my bangs
Then I retrieve
My baskets’ piled high, and take my leave
I do not have a clothesline but if I did … yes I would. The smell of laundry off the line is irreplaceable and the texture of a line dried towel on a back which itches is sheer heaven

I am going to invest in an inside rack to hang on as I do have things that need to be dried in the air the dryer destroys them.