Inspired by The Weekend Wordsmith
photo courtesy of Pink Sherbet
Correspondence is a lost art--
not the type it in and click send sort.
The kind that exacts a price
in ink, paper, postage, and hands sore
from gripping a well made pen.
Most everything is faster now than it was
when I was a kid. Back then, everything was
faster than it had been before.
I wonder at what point we’ll lose
our equilibrium; revert of necessity
to a less dizzying pace. Maybe then we’ll sit
down of our own accord on a summer evening
with a glass of actual fresh-squeezed lemonade;
write a letter to someone who remembers
less hectic times than we do.