Each month, I buy a book of twenty stamps. I create twenty post cards. I write twenty short stories about them. I send them to twenty strangers. This is the twenty stamps project.

Request a postcard by sending your snail mail address to sean.arthur.cox@gmail.com or find me on facebook at https://www.facebook.com/SeanArthurCox
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts

Thursday, December 13, 2012

The Forest and the River



The forest and the river got into a bit of a feud one day. A few trees had grown into the river and the river felt quite put upon, and rightly so. A river changes its boundaries very slowly, but forests spread much faster at a consistent rate of regular slowly.

“But river,” said the forest, “every few years you overstep your bounds and enter me. What say you to that?”

“It is only a temporary visit, and only when my relatives from up north come to visit,” the river said. “Besides, you grow richer and stronger every time I do, so where can the harm be?”

The forest considered this and said, “But river, without your visits, I would never have been able to grow so big and so far. It is you who allows me to enter your banks.”

Now it was the river's turn to consider what the forest had said. The forest was correct, he realized. Sure his visits to the forest were not long at all and the trees would be in the river longer, but the river visited the forest often and the forest visited the river only rarely. Besides, the roots made homes for the fish, which made the river more beautiful, and who could object to that? From then on, the river was more forgiving of the few trees who overstepped the banks, and the forest was more forgiving when the river came to visit, for they were always both the better for it.

- Originally mailed to P. Walker of Diamondhead, Mississippi

Thursday, October 4, 2012

Closets




Miranda Tully didn't believe in closets. Oh, she knew they existed, but disagreed with them on principle. Too many connotations of secrets and shames long hidden. Skeletons in the closet, closet alcoholics. She wouldn't abide a closet's use in her home. Instead, she would pile and stack things in front of them, which she realized hid the place where shame hid. The closet became her secret, for to even have them suggested she encouraged such deceptions.

“Oh,” her friends would say. “I never realized there was a door back there.”

And Miranda would blush for shame.

- Originally mailed to L. Sims of Hattiesburg, MS