Clotheslines in Autumn

It is late autumn in London and storms have been blowing over the British Isles for days now. Weather being weather in ways I have never seen before. Today and yesterday came with a few sprinkles, but mostly sunshine and wind--and it is the wind that fascinates me. There is so much energy in the wind; potential, hope.

When the sun shone with the wind this morning one of my first thoughts was the ability to efficiently dry cleaning washed sheets on the line; sheets of cotton soft flannel, a delicate brocade pattern of white on ivory. Sheets for loved and visitors to snuggle into, wrap up in. I could dry the sheets in the house, on a stand or the radiator, but the smell is different, the texture of the fabric, the softness.

The image that never fails me is the clothesline of a house on the Irish bus I passed each day to university. Freshly cleaned family washes strung out for any kind of weather, relying on the wind. The property around the house went on for as far as I could see, a stone wall at the front separating the land from the road. My garden would have fit in their driveway by comparison, but I got a sense of the openness--the potential--as I struggled to pin the sheets to the line today, the wind dancing around me.

Singing

I feel there are two times of each day when it is not only appropriate to sing to your lover, but actually perfect in the scheme of the day: in the morning as they wake and in the evening as their eyelids fall drowsily. This isn't to say you can't sing to your lover all day long, but that those times are particularly intimate and besides, the rest of the day you can actually sing together if you like.

My repertoire of songs, however, feels sorely lacking for such romantic occasions. The only lullaby I feel comfortable singing in my range is "Tell Me Why" and while it is lovely, it is more for the little ones. After that, my mind goes to "Good night, sweetheart, though I hate to go...ba da-da da bump..." or the song they sing in "It's a Wonderful Life" as they stand before the old house with broken windows. I'm obviously not doing so great on that last tune particularly since I even had to look up the name of the movie...

The morning, though, I think I've got it. The right pace, the right tune, the right range, the right sweetness:

Good morning, good morning,
the sun is shining bright for you
Good morning, good morning,
to you!

Sometimes I'll just sing it a few times over, long enough to get a little smile out of my lover and a little wiggle in my step. And that's all you really need I think in those moments. Well, and the sun shining maybe...