Summary:A semi-autobiographical picture/prose thing I put together.
“What are you doing under there?” he asked, walking past the clothes drying in the sun, their smell- citrus-y detergent smell- wafting on the wind.
“New perspective,” she explained from the spot she had picked on the ground below the trees and their foliage.
He went into the garden to plant seeds and measure the asparagus.
When the breeze gusted stronger, her still wet blue jeans flapped just enough to let the blaze of the sun flash through.
Another, smaller voice asked another question: “Mom, why are you taking pictures of my underwear?” The head that went with the voice floated into the viewscreen.
“Look up. See how the laundry tree and its leaves are below and the real tree and its leaves are above.” The real leaves made soft rustling noises in the warm, spring wind.
“Oh, okay.” The small man went to play soccer in the yard.
She smelled the fresh cut grass that itched on the spot of back-skin where her shirt had ridden up. She smelled the blooms on the breeze, felt the lush warmth of just the right amount of moisture in the air. She heard the faint, brassy notes of trumpet practice coming out from the open window. Mary Had a Little Lamb?
She only laid there a few minutes, but the renewal of the changed season seeped into her and she crawled out from under much more alive than she had been before.