From where I'm sitting as I write this now, I can see, through the window to my left, a bit of my back yard. A short length of my clothesline crosses the view a few feet from the glass. Beyond it the ground slopes upwards into woods unbroken for at least 2 miles, without a sign of pavement for another mile beyond that. A few months ago, a pair of phoebes took up residence under the overhanging roof above that window, and have since been using the clothesline as a convenient perch. Every now and again, I'll see the line bobbing up and down as if on its own, telling me that at least one of the pair has landed on the rope just out of view. And sometimes they'll land in front of the window. I've rather enjoyed that they're comfortable sharing space with me.
Otherwise, this summer's been atrocious - warm, humid, and wet. The devastation wrought by floods in next-door Vermont and Massachusetts has made national news. Fortunately I'm on high ground, so I've been spared the worst, even though all roads leading in and out pass through wetlands. My post-surgery walking regimen has been sharply curtailed, and any laundry too bulky to be hung from a shower rod has to be carted to a nearby laundromat for drying.
But a few days ago the unrelenting dampness relented, and once the clothesline had dried enough to be pressed into service, I happily draped freshly-laundered bedding over it, to take advantage of the sunlight and a gentle northwest breeze wafting through fragrant woods. It's one of my greatest simple pleasures to slip between two crisp, clean sheets still redolent of the forest.
The phoebes, however, did not seem to share my delight - in fact, their umbrage with me was quite obvious. As I pinned each item to the clothesline, they flitted out of sight from tree to tree, angrily clucking and chipping in vocal disaproval of my actions. If they'd spoken English, it would have been "Who do you think you are? Get that shit outta here!"
The resulting visual change in their landscape was unfamiliar and alarming enough to keep them from landing for the rest of the afternoon, allaying concerns I'd had about their toilet habits. They were still fretting each time I stepped out to assess the linens' dampness. To their undoubted chagrin, I kept the sheets on the line far longer than necessary to simply dry them - I wanted to imbue them with as much of the woodland essence as I could, and continued airing them long after they needed to be. They were still at it when I finally decided, after the sun had moved into the west, that it was time to make the bed. Even as pillowcases dropped one by one into the basket, angry little barks continued issuing from somewhere within an old hemlock at the edge of the yard. "Alright, alright," I laughed aloud. "It's all yours now. Chill!" I hoisted the basket and headed inside.
Fifteen minutes later, the bed was ready for occupancy and I was seated here at the computer. Motion at the corner of my eye caught my attention. It was the clothesline bobbing up and down without visible cause.
I sighed & shook my head. No harm done, I guess.
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