late night laundry;
at 12.30am dad remembers that the laundry is still out in the garden, so out we go, dad armed with torchlight and me scurrying behind hugging massive laundry basket and trying hard not to step on snails. the moon and stars are bright and i'm almost distracted by the smiling night sky, but i remember my job, unclipping clothes pegs, pulling cool towels off the laundry line and hurling them alternatingly with dad into the basket right in front of me, while trying to see over the accumulating pile of linen and pajamas and socks. dad's trying to work at 'top-speed' because efficiency is something he prides himself on, so the the light from the torch in his other hand jumps all around the backyard, sporadically shining in my face, dad's face, then illuminating spots of towel, plant and leaf. it's kind of chaotic and the random flashes remind me of the friday night police shows on discovery channel that used to terrify and entice me so much at the same time, except of course now i'm not scared at all; in fact, shuffling back indoors behind dad and a little mountain of clean clothes, i feel quite, quite safe.