Hello from here

 

There is plenty of ink in my pen, but I cannot think of what to write.  It’s much the same with my car.  The gas tank is full but I’ve nowhere to go.

It is on days like this when I reach for my camera and just start snapping pictures.  No matter what I take a picture of, there is always another way to look at it, a different view often offers up a completely different story or feeling.

Another option is to close my eyes and simply listen to the sounds around me.  Outside I hear the crows and blue jays, the chattering squirrels and the hoot of the owl.  Inside I can hear the air coming through the vents, being forced by the furnace.  I can hear the hum coming from this computer.  What is capturing my attention above all are my cold feet.  I need to put socks on.

Okay, so now there is a little less ink in my pen and yet I still haven’t gone anywhere.  It’s like the ink is my gas, however, there is a momentary glitch in my mental GPS.  I sit here and wait as it recalculates.

In 1962 I joined a church in the town where I lived at the time.  Just yesterday I sent them an email asking if anyone wanted to be a pen pal.  For the longest time I’ve been searching for someone who would write to me.  I have friends that respond to letters but never anyone who actually initiates correspondence.  Everyone tells me it is a thing of the past.  “People just don’t write anymore.”

I figure that receiving an email after a 63 year absence just might generate a little curiosity.  Who is this guy and what’s he up to?  Hey, you never know.  Anything can happen.

I’ll let you know if anyone responds.

 

Yours Truly

Z. Corwin