Handwritten Letters
I have an old ammo box under my bed. Inside the safety of the green metal box I have a collection of handwritten letters and cards. There are birthday cards, graduation cards, getwell cards, some Christmas cards, a few Valentines day cards, letters from old girls, and letters from loved ones. It is a treasure box of memories. This box was designed to keep ammo secure and ready for battle. Yet now it contains memories.
I don't have a green metal box on the internet. There is no place to keep emails or posts. I guess this blog will keep my words secure on the digital page, but for how long? What happens when I forget that I have a blog? Or when I forget the web address for my digital ammo box?
The box under my bed reminds me from time to time what it contains. In some ways it still carries ammo. When I am down or disillusioned I open it up and reach in and pull out some paper. These letters and cards remind me of the trip to the mail box, or when I would reach next to the birthday cake and pick up a stack of cards.
I hold the paper close to my face. I smell the paper. I sometimes can smell the person who wrote the letter. I close my eyes and think of them. Then I read. These words written in ink. The grow older day by day, year by year, but do not loose their freshness on my eye and soul. They seep in like the warmth of a mug of apple cider on a cold fall day.
Handwritten letters sent from my pen to your heart.
On paper cut from an old Georgia pine.
Words written in ink from a distant land.
In my hands I hold a word, a prayer, a thought.
I close my eyes and stop time.
Handwritten letters from your heart to my hand.
posted by Hugh @ 10:03 PM
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