I have a pile of ironing. Not clothes, but table linens, old, embroidered, loved but abandoned. Crunchy, creased, wrinkled and worn. They have old faded stains here and there.
They have piled up over months. I use them, then discard them after laundering.
Ignored. Uncared for.
Today I will tend to them as the sun blazes through the windows.
Dampen them to relieve the crunchiness, relax the fibres, ease the stresses.
Sprayed to feed them, smoothed with hands and warmth.
Folded, re-piled in size and colour order.
I shall choose my favourite and lay it across my table.
I will pick primroses, and tiny daffodils to decorate it, draw attention to its beauty.
Agnes Obel listens to the hiss of the steam as I listen to her fingers on the piano keys.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6h9XUYj96ho&list=AL…
