"I didn't know what to think when we made eye contact. Both of us were wrapped up to fight the cold. He asked me for my name and pulled out a clip board, 'Please sign here.' And so I did, curious. He just dug into his satchel and handed me a worn envelope. 'You got mail' was all he said, before the light changed from red and we never saw each other again. I remember then as my hands poked out of my sleeves, that envelop was still warm. What was inside seemed less important than the exchange that just occurred.
I didn't open that letter till I was miles away from that crosswalk, and did so with care. Its worn surface was blank, without address and its stamp box was bare. The letter was warm and filled with flowers preserved, the words told a story of friendship to occur. Seeds sown on barren land with the hope of tomorrow as seasons pass.
In a book on a shelf forgotten to time, I pulled out a dried plant of mine. A clover with four leaves filled with memories of younger years with hopeful dreams... I carefully put it with the others in the letter and closed its fragile seal. Years would pass and that planted seed would grow till one winter I found myself again at a crossroads covered in snow. Another person was there fighting off the cold.
We made eye contact.
I asked for a name, had it written down, and passed on the letter which had found, a new home.
So is the story of the letter without a destination, passing on from one generation. I don't know when the journey will end, but along its way I've made many new friends."
