First Snow

It snowed in Maine last night. But it's not the first of the season; last week about twelve flakes fell around my dog and I while we were taking our afternoon walk. Actually, there may have been more than twelve -- I wasn't counting -- but there weren't many more. It was like a postcard reminding me the bulk of the mail was yet to come.

I remember postcards. For a penny you could send a note across the country. Then it was a nickel, a dime, and eventually it cost as much to send a postcard as a letter and what was the point? The whole idea of the postcard was a letter in brief, a portent of more to come.

I still get them, only not from friends traveling through Europe or Africa saying, "We finally found the pyramids -- wish you were here!" Mine come from the local auto dealership reminding me I still have time for a year-end trade or an insurance agent urging me to revise my policy to include earthquake coverage. When was the last time Maine had an earthquake? Probably about the time of the last ice age -- I'd better get busy.

Like the rest of the world I've come to rely on email, but I think I miss the postcard. I still click on the email icon with a sense of anticipation, but its not the same as those days when, like Charlie Brown opening the mailbox and calling, "Hello in there," I never knew what I might find. Maybe pictures of a giant rabbit in a cowboy hat or the Grand Canyon or the Tower of London and the ever welcome phrase, "Wish you were here."