Every morning, rain or shine, after his breakfast, Roland negotiates the overgrown sidewalk to his mailbox. Most days he finds it empty, but occasionally there’s a bill or political ad.
Neighbors sent him a pamphlet highlighting snail mail addiction. Roland reviewed it, painstakingly resealed it, then specified “Return to sender.”
Roberta Beach Jacobson is a humorist from Iowa.
The mailbox is empty today, again. Even though I know better, I keep expecting to find a letter from you waiting on me one of these days. To see your distinctive handwriting one last time would be like gazing on a minor work of art.
Email just isn’t the same.
Daniel Slaten writes short stories and poetry in small notebooks and on sticky notes.
In fair weather or foul, the mail must get through.
No one knows why anymore. It has been possible for a decade to send any message electronically and to replicate or actuate any object that might previously have required physical transportation.
I suppose the mail carriers have a good union.
This story was based on the prompt “in fair weather” on TypeTrigger.