I can’t say I actually love washing dishes by hand, but neither to I dread so. I do find it meditative in the same way I find cooking devotional. Cooking engenders eating engenders washing up after oneself.
Besides, kitchen sinks are often fortunately positioned beneath a window. While washing up, I’ve also been privy to observing dogs without their knowledge, so I get to see them actually play spontaneously rather than revolve around me. Birds, and lots of them, go about being birds without keeping either an eye or a lookout for me. Rain falls, snow accumulates, and my minds wanders with no fixed target. I can listen to the radio, a podcast, or the rattling of my own mind as the dishwasher is mercifully silent.
Thank you for a nice writing prompt, White Feather.
