I received a nice little postcard in the mail the other day. Sylvie had sent a beautiful image of Chaves, Portugal and its arched roman bridge across the river. She wrote about how nice and warm it was there, and how they would finish their week of vacation in Porto. Then she gave her good wishes for our health and signed off with a kiss.
Like thousands of postcards circulating around this earth.
I went out in the yard and read it out loud to the trees and the sky. The card was addressed, you see, to the former tenants of my house, who have not lived here for more than five years. In fact, I think they have both passed away.
It left me wondering, when I die, who will be sending me postcards years afterwards? How do we tie up all those loose ends?