The Way the Laundry Leaned

Seven in the morning, and the laundry hung along the rooftop railing had all leaned to one side. The white quilt was pressed right up to the edge, as if one more gust would send it over. Looking up at it, I suddenly thought: maybe that person, too, wanted to walk a little today. While the wind rested, the shadow of the clothesline drawn on the rooftop floor. Between those shadows the sunlight wavered this way and that, and I was watching only my own tail. Seeing the quilt swell and settle little by little inside that shadow, even while the wind rested, the laundry was very much alive.