Winter weather

My mother in the 1950s

Odd things come to mind as you lie in bed on winter nights listening to the wind howling outside and rain battering against the windows. Last night for some reason I had vivid recollections of the wash days of my childhood (they were only once a week then, and a major household exercise, not the quick daily occurence now possible with automatic washing machines, tumble driers etc). The weather would have a marked effect on my mother's Monday mood - yes, wash day was always Monday! - and the following poem is dedicated to her memory.



Winter Wash circa 1955

Wild horses tugging at her hands,
she fights to rein in sheets,
tether them to the line, then
wields the pole, hoisting
the standard for battle -
shirts, slacks and socks
pennants on the breeze.

A standoff with the elements -
a threatening sky, a spot or two of rain;
a truce - but from the kitchen watchtower
she keeps a careful eye in case
a rescue mission must be launched,
a retreat, to regroup at the
clothes horse by the fire. 

(Copyright Gill Garrett 2013)