Red Ironing Area
carolsLittleWorld
She irons daily without an iron, drawn to the red wall and the painted windows, one tinged with dawn, the other flushed with dusk, awash in the reds and yellows of high summer. Like props left on a stage decades after the last curtain call, there is an empty old desk and a red chair, along with evidence of a certain lackadaisical approach to housekeeping that may have been key to the central character’s decision do what she did in the first act. The board sits at just the right height, balanced just-so. And a hanger dangles patiently, waiting to be clothed.
She irons daily without an iron, letting her mind drift carelessly across time, watching the light paint the windows, in league with the hanger waiting patiently to be clothed, made happy by the red wall.
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