Who's Got Mail?

Who's Got Mail?

"Letters are tumbling into her wide bag," I hear my brain comment. 

Wait a minute! What was she doing with that cascade of envelopes? I stop in my tracks, my shopping bag slopping from my shoulder and onto my forearm. 

"She is a postwoman collecting mail from the mailbox," my brain explains. 

I had never noticed that box before: or rather, I had seen the royal blue rectangles around the city but had never recognized the symbol on the front that stood for post (a crown over what looks like Aladdin's lamp).  I had never really paid attention although I pass one almost every day.

Isn't it interesting that something may be there all the time, but we don't see it? Maybe even more fascinating is the day we notice it. What makes us finally focus our attention on the something? Or clears away whatever was blocking our vision? Or makes us look up, opposite to what we normally did at that point in the street/country/ city?

It was the movement of all that mail that had caught my eye: that trail of paper into the black hole of a bag. Or perhaps because my movement was different the mail dropped into my consciousness. I had taken my time walking up the beach to the supermarket, and was slowly strolling back home after stopping to sniff (and buy) bread from my favorite bakery.

I was in the mood to notice. I wanted to absorb the new, to be a part of the street, to take part in the goings-on, to observe people and look them in the eyes. I wanted the street to surprise me somehow, and it did!

Photo: <a href="https://pixabay.com/users/makamuki0-1102736/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=1119870">Marc Pascual</a> from <a href="https://pixabay.com//?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=1119870">Pixabay</a>

Text: Kristen Mastromarchi