Shining through

I'd emptied the trash, a whole plastic bag of kitchen garbage, filled with crumpled mail and wet lids and broken bits of junk, and I washed out the trash can, this big rectangle plastic box that fits perfectly between the dryer and the wall, just inside the laundry room, right off my kitchen, and I was putting in a new plastic bag, a 33-gallon trash bag because we use the biggest size, and I was thinking as I shook out the folds of the plastic that this was the most mundane task, the most boring and repetitive and thankless motion, but just then the sun came shining in through the kitchen window, lighting up the edge of the plastic trash can, warm colour spilling in through the wrinkles of the plastic bag.