I’ve got the right day, when even the river seems to lie back and love the sun, which in turn loves my laundry. The last time I had a thrill like this, not counting my last radish and cheddar sandwich, was when a bunch of us were trying to create text and image presentations on an Apple IIe—this was 1981-82 in Nelson, a town about as far up the edge of Kootenay Lake in southeastern B.C. as I am right now above the Tagus in Alfama. I’d worked out a sequence of commands for a screen that would say, in crude early computer font, the supreme joy, over a piece-at-a-time assembly of a primitive car, of perfect motoring. I loved the effect.
So, the supreme joy of hanging clothes to dry, liking the thought of what I get later: my stash of river breeze up the pantlegs and down the sleeves. Re-delicate undies! Never mind later, I like it now, the flag of my undies and socks and the full kit, pinned loosely on the line, as they do it here. A breeze keeps things cool. The sun bides its time. While the clothes hang, I’ll head out for a little dangle in the breeze of my own.
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