Mailbox

And none will hear the postman's knock
Without a quickening of the heart.
For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?
~W.H. Auden

I love the mailman. 

I love running down to my little postbox, slipping the key into the lock, and opening the tiny copper door to find letters personally addressed to me.

I love signing into my email and seeing emails written from one friend to another...personal, without a foolish "chain" or a message full of coupons, packed with trite, impersonal gibberish.

I love the written word, seeing my address hand-penned on an envelope...

...perhaps a few inked embellishments here and there to give the paper more personality than it already inherently possesses. 

I love knowing that someone took the time to sit down and scribble their heart onto the page for my eyes alone. 

It's is a much-loved gesture. 

Of all the movements in this world...

...of all the friendly acts known to the heart of man... 

...there is none so devoted or as timeless as a letter writ in human hand. 

This is something that I will never cease to adore. 

Not even after all the ink has run dry. 

The post office has a great charm at one point of our lives.  When you have lived to my age, you will begin to think letters are never worth going through the rain for.  ~Jane Austen