Dear Brooks

I finally finished my first letter to post today. I can’t believe how long it’s taken me to get it ready and on its way; it’s been half-made on my kitchen table for a while now. I wonder if others will be the same? I think I took so long deliberating over it because it wasn’t to you. It still seems strange.

I decided to send it on its way at the post-office down in the village, thought I could do with a walk. The sky was such a deep grey and the air had a stillness that was as eerie as if I’d been walking lost in a forest in the dead of night. I walked along the old farm track and cobbled byways, where the soft mud was ankle deep after all the rain and the hedgerows were full of ripening blackberries and the songs of robins. Autumn is definitely here.

It had to be a quick walk so I almost marched along, one hand clutching the brown letter, the other one shoved deep into my coat pocket. I was thinking about the journey the letter would soon be going on, wending its way far up north, wondering about the hands that would open it, what they would make of the contents. Soon enough I was in the middle of the village and wandered in to the shop. It’s like walking into a time warp: the shop still has all it’s original pine fittings, covered in layers of chipped paint, little drawers and shelves supporting each other on turned posts – there’s even a spiral staircase in the middle of the room. The post office is in a dark corner at the back, behind the stairs. I joined the queue, reading the ’save our post-office’ posters while I waited. At last I handed the letter over to the clerk, who tried to put it through some plastic contraption to determine whether it was a letter or a packet. A packet, he said. He put it on the scales, which I couldn’t see, and told me the rate. I delved into my pocket fishing out the change that I’d picked up on my way out of the house. I stood there counting it all out only to discover I was a penny short. Yes, one whole pence. (I know you’ll be laughing now!)  The smiling clerk suggested I remove some of the packaging so that it would fit through his plastic thing and could go at a cheaper rate. I decided I’d rather go home with the letter and come back with an extra penny, so off I stomped back up the lane.

I rushed around for the rest of the afternoon doing all the usual stuff and didn’t get home until gone 5.30.  When I came in through the door the first thing I saw was the letter, still there on the kitchen table where I’d left it in my haste to get out of the house again, trying not to be late.  Less haste, more speed did I hear you say?!  Hmmm, I wonder if it’s something else altogether: a letter that doesn’t want to leave…

lots of love B