"I hold that the parentheses are by far the most important parts of a non-business letter." - D.H. Lawrence, "To send a letter is a good way to go somewhere without moving anything but your heart" - Phyllis Theroux, 'And none will hear the postman's knock Without a quickening of the heart. For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?' - W.H. Auden, 'Sir- more than kisses- letters mingle souls; for- thus friends absent speak.' -John Donne, “A letter always seemed to me like immortality because it is the mind alone without corporeal friend.” ― Emily Dickinson, “letter writing is the only device for combining solitude with good company” -Lord Byron, Flap those butterfly effect wings, I see skies of blue and clouds of white, Try a little tenderness - watch her groove
“What is the point?” Esme was asked by a passing lollygagger whilst she was priming her flying monkeys’ knapsacks with the first round of cross galactic Yuletide greetings in the form of hand–printed cards. —Waves at Mak, Prospero and Ark—
Well, think of it like this:
Some people receive nothing but bills, demands, banks at their throats, having debts up to their ears, whilst others, having moved all important areas from paper to digital, don’t even get those through their letterbox — all the postman delivers are the odd magazine addressed to a previous occupier, one stuffed to the gills with offers for the latest and bestest incontinence pants and non-slip slippers, along with fliers asking if they would like to find Jesus or sell their teeth. (Not the last one).
How many of us pick up hand-written envelopes and, once slipping a finger under the flap, find within a message written by a real person, an actual hominid, one wishing them well and sending love across the universe?
In this age of technology, not very many I’ll wager, and at worst, the recipient of their card will dismiss the missive as trite. Yet at best it may well be the decider which alters someone’s path away from the darkness that pervades their being daily, and drives them to utter despair, instead nudging them gently into a small patch of sunlight and smiles. Not for very long, but perhaps long enough to make that one day a tad more tolerable, and raise their hopes that there are some humans out there who are actually okay.
Esme is not a human being mind you, but that’s really a minor detail. —Falls about— Esme is a Sidhe or Sylph, depending on the day of the week. A Sylph is of course an air spirit who has power over the . . . hmm, air, yes, particularly the wind and the clouds. Usually, Sylphs are portrayed as guardians of secret knowledge and the environment, but it’s not out of the question for a Sylph to cause mischief among men —nods and grins— and they also like a cheeky Jack Daniels after 6pm.
All the details are here: Sylph Stuff for the Nosy Parkers out there.
Handwritten missives are worth keeping, they retain something of the moment that digital files merely freeze in time: some warmth, an element of the writer that flows through their curly letters and across to the reader, ideally wreathing them in smiles.
Unless it’s a letter from the landlord asking if anyone has broken the tenancy agreeement by keeping a smelly cat in the premises, or simply been weeing up the outside wall themselves . Not so much then.
–added addendum-dum. My personal card sending has nothing to do with the shop, they are hand printed and no ‘flier’ or ‘voucher’ is attached, no mention of Clockwork Jewel at all appears upon their fair surface, they are sent with love and care to a select few, and anyone who thinks otherwise can take a long jump off a short Cloud, because it isn’t easy creating and posting so many when one isn’t terribly well and lacks energy, but this is an act of care that makes Esme happy and is intended to do the same across the universe