Angry Sky by Dianne Murdoch

Sometimes I steal into a quiet garden to stand by the washing line
Laundry forgotten in my hands as my eyes search grey skies
Looking for something, searching for something
Seeing everything but noticing nothing
I breathe deeply and release one long shuddering sigh
A breath held without conscious mind
Waiting for just a few minutes rest to fly free from a constricted chest
I look down at trembling hands that clutch such tiny clothes
Representations of the miniature people so large within my life
Leaving little space for me as I shrink and shrivel to give room for their growth
I let go
Of the laundry
Of the breath
Of the stress
Of the tiredness
Of the constant needing, feeding, reading, singing, sighing, playing and praying for peace
I let go and close my eyes
Wondering if tears will kiss my cheeks in gratitude
For these silent still moments stolen swiftly beside the washing line.