Triggers

My clothesline has become a trigger. A trigger to a memory of stolen time. A time when nothing mattered or was more important than seeing you appear as if by magic at the door of a wee cabin, tucked safely behind a Bed & Breakfast in the heart of a land far removed from my world.
You see she had one just like it. She hung her laundry out in the sun every morning while I was there at the cabin. Laundry that added to the cover that kept us secluded from prying eyes that might give away our secret.
Every time I am out hanging clothes to dry in the early morning sunshine, beneath azure blue skies, I'm wisked back in time and I see her there from my window as I wait. The sky is bright with sunlight, the breeze whips the freshly washed sheets about as she pins them to the line, and then are left there to bask throughout the warmth of the day as she goes about doing her other chores, leaving me in my solitude to anticipate your much longed for arrival.
And before I know it, you are there and I am complete once more as our love wraps us up in its tender arms.