A Love Letter

Dear Laundry,

You are relentless.
You are water leaking into a boat, ceaselessly scooped with a bucket, lest all the inhabitants sink and drown.
I can never escape you. For a family can function with dusty shelves and unscrubbed sinks, but not without something to wear. You stick with me like a tick in a scalp.

And yet.

In the quiet of the afternoon, when I sit surrounded by you on the couch, gently folding your Spring Breeze-scented articles, I realize I love you.
For you are the fullness of life.
You are chocolate ice cream dripping from a cone.
You are sweet potatoes and turkey mixed with fortified rice cereal.
You are grass stains after an awesome slide toward the ball.
You are sweat from an invigorating run.
You are soil and compost and manure.

In two decades hence when you have grown frail and thin, I will miss your abundance. I will yearn for the liquids and semi-solids you hold from sweet-cheeked babies. I will long for your mud, your paint, and your spilled milk. Thoughts of your sawdust and dog hair will bring a wistful smile to my lips.

I love you, Laundry. You are my number one chore.

Yours Truly