dares try to take it on. It doesn't have any snow caps at the top,nor
tricky cliffs to scale-it is the mountain of laundry-daunting just the
same.
Intimidating it is for it never seems to end-just when I seem to be
conquering it fights back bigger and badder letting you know who is
boss!
now as you can imagine this mountain had to start somewhere and not
from plates colliding together either. More like four people's hampers
piled together.
I stuff the mouth of the buliemic monster-filled to capacity whether
it be with towels,muddy work clothes,kid outfits stained with the
juice of the day. It shakes and rattles with such determination.
Spinning spinning almost as out of control as the mountain itself.
Then the wet mess is struggled with until I can get it all in the
dryer with the door shut. The heatmiser dries the pieces of mountain-
the molten rocks that are spewed back into another type of towering
intimidation left to sort and fold,sort and fold.
And somehow somehow turning back the mt st wash looms in the distance-
bigger than before...
Danielle
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