Thoughts on Hanging Clothes

Tonight when I snuggle into bed, its going to smell like the great outdoors. The sheets will be cold and crisp, scented with the fresh winter air. I thought a lot today when I was outside bringing in the clothes, that I don't know how to describe the way the air smells in winter as opposed to the summer air. It is different, but words escape me in explaining it.
I was in no hurry to come inside so I folded each piece as I put it in the clothes basket. Mindless work that allowed me to gaze around and see the way the cats looked snuggled up in the hay in the sun, or the way the morning doves brown feathers reminded me of the woods. Seeing the collard greens growing in the garden, stopping to remember in detail how sweet and good they tasted last night for supper. Steamed soft but not so long that they lost that bright green color.
The red sheets blowing on the line as if they were some great sail. Hard to bring in, taming them and making them conform to the size and shape I wanted. I held them up to my nose. The scent so much like comfort. Today I knew that if we had a clothes dryer, and it is always me that says NO to the idea of getting one, I knew today that I if one sat next to the washer, I may have reasoned, "well you are sick with this cold, its not warm outside so use the dryer". And I suspect I could find reasons many days to not bother lugging out heavy baskets of wet clothes, hang them up when the sun is too hot or when the air is too cold, but by doing that, I would miss so much. The smell of the air, the clouds floating by above me, the sound of the chickens, or the birds in the trees. The way the earth looks as its bare and the way it looks as plants spring forth in amazing speed. I would miss the way the chilly air kisses my face or the way the suns heat reminds me of sitting in the sand at the beach as a child. I would miss way too many things by having a dryer.
Tonight, when I pull those covers up over me and plop my head on my pillow, surrounded by the smell and feel of this winter day, I will know that for me, its best to be simple and not have a machine that would rob me of all this

Morning dove sitting on the fence

A basket of folded clothes, with Ling Ling looking on

Collard greens in our garden