Another resident of the grass strip at the edge of

the field. An old ringer washing machine. Nestled

amid the field mice and the crows who have no

need it seems for laundry. I somehow doubt it was

actually easy.

"It has to be loved the way a laundress loves her linens,
the way she moves her hands caressing the fine muslins
knowing their warp and woof,
like a lover coaxing, or a mother praising.
It has to be loved as if it were embroidered
with flowers and birds and two joined hearts upon it.
It has to be stretched and stroked.
It has to be celebrated.
O this great beloved world and all the creatures in it.
It has to be spread out, the skin of this planet."

from

          Planet Earth

                  P.K. Page

"Oh, let there be nothing on
earth but laundry,
Nothing but rosy hands in the rising
steam
And clear dances done in the sight of
heaven."

from

Love Calls Us To The Things Of This World

                                 Richard Wilbur