
In somebody’s handwriting
No particular news.
A small bundle of letters. A very familiar hand.
The letters always began the same way: not much to report. Then came three pages about the garden, a neighbour’s dog, something good she had made for lunch.
I used to read them quickly, looking for the news. Now those are the parts I return to. The small weather of an ordinary week. The way she crossed out a word rather than starting again. The little arrow when she remembered something after signing her name.
There is no great revelation in this bundle. Just the lovely, unnecessary effort of telling someone about your day.
Not much to report. Everything to keep.
A fictional story, written for this sample exhibit.