Laundry

Each night,
after the last sitting
I make my way down the hill
to fold the kitchen laundry.

One night,
with my heart open
I fold each apron and towel
Feeling connected
to tomorrow's cook
to tomorrow's dishwasher
Feeling grateful
for my small contribution
to the next day's meal.

One night,
with my mind foggy and tired
I fold each apron and towel
Thinking of more efficient ways
I could operate the kitchen.
Why do the aprons get all tangled?
And how is it possible to use so many towels?
And why did I get the last job of the night?
And, And, And...
My arms finish folding,
as my mind keeps going.

Lumbering back up the hill,
a sound of rustling nearby,
two eyes glowing
from the silhouette of a deer.
Our eyes lock,
perfectly still.
A moment later,
the shadowy eyes vanish,
and so too does any agitation.