Sipping my mocha watching the woman outside the window bathed in warm sunlight.
Across the patio on the other side of the glass sits a woman dressed in black and pink. Her dark sun glasses hide her emotions as she reads a letter. The small white squarish paper was pulled from an equally small white matching container. The address was handwritten on the outside.
She reads the letter that is written in old slanted long hand script. The paper is lined keeping the words in perfect harmony equally spaced from row to row. Her brow furrows from time to time as she carefully, reverently flips from one page to another.
As I sit here writing aimlessly in my lined spiral bound notebook, I wonder who would write a letter on thin sheaf paper.
You can sit in this same chair at any given time and watch the ebb and flow of cell phones and laptops and iPads.
Yet, in this sea of technology sit two unrelated people reading a handwritten letter and writing in a spiral bound notebook.