Our Myopia of Gaia's Invisible Labor
/Strewn on the concrete floor of the mudroom are summertime hats. A variety of baseball hats, wide brimmed floppy sun hats, Polly Hill Arboretum monogrammed bucket hats, disintegrating straw sun hats, my husband’s sturdy sun hat purchased at a cricket match, the visor from my childhood with my name emblazoned on it, the yellow rainproof fishing hat from my parents, and several neck gaitors from our visit to the tropics.
I wipe out the inside of the bench drawer with a damp rag. Then I turn to the closet and open the drawer that held all of the cold weather hats.
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