Prose, I suppose -

[Harker]

5. It says a lot when I can't think of anything to say.

Coincidentally, shortly before posting that, I was reminiscing to my wife in great detail about the comfort I felt when my mother was ironing... the bloop bloop of the water from an oversized green glass bottle with a perforated stopper, the hiss and aroma of hot iron on damp cotton, the soothing swaying to the ritualistic inner rhythm...

Thanks for sharing your memories, lillypaddle. And for evoking some of mine.