Whenever it is time to change *bed linens* (which happens ne'er too often since our third child was born), James and Joel get very excited. They love to play in the dirty sheets - dirty laundry of any sort, but sheets and pillow cases are best - and have all sorts of adventures. First they pretend it's nighttime, then they build a house or a tent, then it's another imaginary dwelling. Finally laundry is being thrown everywhere, then ending the laundry adventures for that day. But, while they playing amongst the piles I always think of the following poem by Robert Louis Stevenson. The boys may never have the experience of playing in real piles of hay, but dirty laundry will do for now. No, it doesn't smell sweetly, but mice don't dwell in it, either.
The Hayloft
Through all the pleasant meadow-side
The grass grew shoulder-high,
Till the shining scythes went far and wide
And cut it down to dry.
Those green and sweetly smelling crops
They led in waggons home;
And they piled them here in mountain tops
For mountaineers to roam.
Here is Mount Clear, Mount Rusty-Nail,
Mount Eagle and Mount High; -
The mice that in these mountains dwell,
No happier are than I!
Oh, what a joy to clamber there,
Oh, what a place for play,
With the sweet, the dim, the dusty air,
The happy hills of hay!
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