Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Soon enough, in the days between one season and the next, we take the quilts from the closet and stretch them upon line out back. Unfolded, they groan and we take the broom to them, removing any dust collected as sleepers in their eyes during their slumber. Sun collects in their pores to keep us warm through the cold months. A breeze imbues them with a breathe of freshness we will inhale each time we wrap our bodies beneath them. We inspect the stitches for those that need tightening, preserving each patch's place in the picture.
This ritual of air-ing the quilts prepares them for the winter that is always coming.
We need this as much as the quilts.
written for Imperfect Prose.
I am being kidnapped in the morning. I don't know what I am doing or where I will be for the next two days. I do know I will be alone, except for my wife, who planned it all in secret. See you Saturday, when we are done air-ing.