It wasn't cuzza the water element that I'd picked that shot for the flooded basement and cicada-heart talk. But that towel's downstairs now, semi-soppin', gettin' dehumidified and fanned at along with everything else.
It lifts my spirits somehow to come across it. I'd been thinking, looking at that picture the other day, that that towel had outlasted my mother, kept to the point of "heirloom rag," as H. & I liked to say. (Long story there, for another day maybe.) I didn't think we'd kept it this long, though. Back in the day it was one of our fancy, big beach towels. Beach towels seemed like quite the luxury then.
