At Home with Emily Brontë
Ironing is her favourite task. The rhythm and the steam transport her to an outer state more vivid than a dream – a place of creased and crumpled hills, a wet and heavy land through which a burning body moves, directed by her hand. Each stroke a stride, the rugged earth dissolves into a plain whence she can touch the brooding clouds and taste the coming rain. This wide expanse, this untrod moor she spreads out fresh each day and, godlike, when she’s done with it she folds the world away.