my mailperson listens to a transistor radio out loud while he does his route. I don’t know why this pleases me so but it does. he listens every day to a sports station, sometimes to a live game of some kind. I don’t know enough about sports to be able to identify his game of preference. Baseball maybe? It seems so old fashioned these days to listen outloud to a game on the radio. I can hear him coming from down the street. a daily sound installation of distant announcer voices, slowly becoming louder and louder until I hear the sound of footsteps on my front porch. my anticipation grows as getting the mail is one of my favourite things. always has been.
I believe good things come in the mail. even bills, though they cause financial stress at times, they at least remind me that I am still alive and kicking, still an active participant in this crazy place, (being the planet). I always look forward to the surprises that the mail brings in the form of postcards from strangers, cards from friends who I see all to little, words from far away places on the other side of the earth. people thinking about me enough to write something, and then take a trip to the mailbox.
i like thinking about the fact that letter mail involves a physical experience of the world, an action. I picture every person going about their days, and at some point having to make a little journey. what did they see on the way? did they run into someone they know? an old friend or neighbor perhaps? did they notice the ground as they walked?