Special Delivery at Weathervane Farm
Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep
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The Smell of the Mailbox
The flag was down on our old mailbox, a sign that the outgoing letters had indeed been picked up and maybe something new left in their place. It was a clever mailbox, instead of just opening from the front flap, causing me to step into the road to get our mail. If we saw a single vehicle every ten minutes, it felt like heavy traffic. I tugged down the latch and the flap creaked open. Inside I spied a few larger envelopes, bills I assumed, and a folded collection of flyers and circulars. A pretty cream envelope, square and small, with our address written by hand in pretty script,. I slid it out, leaving the rest of the mail
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