Quilt Washing Day

This is an essay/poem my sister, Barbara Mease, wrote.... I didn't understand then; but now I do!

Quilt Washing Day

Today's the day to wash the quilts
Oh joy, I thought it would never be time
I haven't dared to think, to plan, to plot
Or I would have begun, right then and there.

The day is right
sun's out
wind's up
And thankfully the humidity's low

The lines are stretched, clean and taut
High enough not to drag
Not so high I can't reach.

The washing's a burden, no fun at all,
But then the art begins.
Each quilt is carried, heavy and wet
To the line that awaits it, steady and set.

I stand back in awe
of the beauty they make.
The reds and the greens and the blues intermingled
With yellows and browns and rust.

Some are quite plain, utility quilts
Others the result of turmoil and pain.
Each has a story, when standing alone
Together they're a gallery, beautiful to behold.

I imagine a neighbor, or even a stranger
Must pause as she drives by and catches a sight
Surely she is blessed and awed by their vision
Surely she feels the warmth coming from them.

Dry now, they are folded, returned to the house.