The Wall

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“What a dear old wall that is that runs along by the river there! I never pass it without feeling better for the sight of it. Such a mellow, bright, sweet old wall; what a charming picture it would make, with the lichen creeping here, and the moss growing there, a shy young vine peeping over the top at this spot, to see what is going on upon the busy river, and the sober old ivy clustering a little farther down! There are fifty shades and tints and hues in every ten yards of that old wall. . . . It looks so peaceful and so quiet, and it is such a dear old place to ramble round in the early morning before many people are about.” Jerome K. Jerome, “Three Men In A Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog)” Ch. 6 (1889)

My Mailbox

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Know what's in my mailbox? Nothin'.

Well, that’s not true.

Bills. Ads.

That’s what's in my mailbox.

Found a bird’s nest in my mailbox once . . . actually, it was in the newspaper box underneath the mailbox. I'm surprised the mail-man never said anything about it. But he's not the paper-boy, so not his problem I guess. And I don't get a newspaper. Should I be surprised that nobody noticed it at all, for as long as it was there? Anyway, the nest is not there anymore. 

Actually, he's not a mailman 'cause he's a she. She's the mail-woman. 

That sounds weird.

I get no mail unless I order something, subscribe to something. In other words, I don’t get anything unless I send it to myself--or someone wants my money.

That's what's in my mailbox. 

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