I lived in an apartment in New Jersey near a reservoir. Out of the concrete rose a green slope. There was a fence at the top. (It eventually opened up to the public, with a sandy path around the perimeter. I loved it. Walking distance to my house! It was a huge part of the initial phase of my recovery from the crack-up of 2012: walking around and around and around that reservoir, working up a sweat.) I always liked getting glimpses of life lived around that reservoir. It was such an odd thing: a concrete world, with sudden rampant greenery as a backyard. This clothes-line was particularly poetic.
Clothes-lines, I love them! I made 3 year calendars once with photographs of clothes-lines, there are so many aspects around them, neighbors meeting around a moment of gossip in the country, lonely bushes with wet clothes to dry, wet T shirts hanging from car windows, endless child clothes in Italian cities, feminist coffee houses with hanging bras as decoration, and of course the classsic film scene of lovers (or enemies) hiding in a cloud of white hanging sheets.
I love yours, because the pants are like a V and an A.