simplicity

There is a sense of calm that washes over me when I hear the gentle hum of the washing machine late at night and the soft tumble of the dryer.

I, too, have the afterthought of laundry— the shirt I was going to wear tomorrow is dirty, these pants have a spill on them, my sweater has an old coffee smell.

It’s mesmerizing, cyclical, entrancing.

Like the swaying of a porch swing or the back and forth of a rocking chair.

The lids on my eyes wait patiently to close,

The tangled mess of thoughts in my mind struggles to settle with the onset of weariness. The weight of exhaustion is too much for my eyelids to bear,

Drooping with each tick of the clock down the hall.

Then

The alarming buzz of the machine blares out,

Cutting through the silence

and I’m reminded I still have another load to wash.