I have a raincoat with a history. The raincoat used to belong to my father, but now that he’s dead, I have it. It’s old, old enough to be all-yellow, and to have metal, not plastic, snaps. The hood drawstring is made of braided cord, which is finished off at the end by a knot, and not an aglet.
I own fancy new raincoat, of multiple colors, which a relative gave me, but I still like wearing my father’s old raincoat.
We finally got a day of rain.
The rain meant that I wore a raincoat when I went out to the garden to pick greens and some sprigs of rosemary
When I came in , I didn’t want to hang a wet raincoat in the entry closet, where its wetness would make other things get moldy. To get the garment dry, I hung the raincoat on a corner post of the hall wood box. Near enough for the warmth to evaporate the raindrops, far enough away so it wouldn’t melt or be harmed by the heat of the stove.
Then, this morning, when I came in after splitting four milk crates of kindling for the stove, I noticed the light hitting the raincoat.
So I took four photographs.