Small town politics. Gliding through the night in big black Ford Explorers. Slow and silent, movement timed with rolling wheels, pajamaed arms stick out in sync to flip open, shove and slam the mailbox doors. No one knows, an owl the only witness to the midnight ride of revolutionaries. We care, they say, this is important. You should care, too.
Morning surprise brings revelation. Small town mailmen don’t mind the missing postage; they live here too. Blue, white–yellow if it’s urgent. Contemporary town criers of the midnight hour.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
it’s been a very long time since I’ve lived in a small town, and it seems hard to believe such practices are still being employed, but at least it gives me pause to remember a time when CARING was all that really mattered
We must have the same mailman {who I love-like very much!}. What an insightful slice of life posted here. ~sad really~ …but beautifully posed.