And then,seemingly in the blink of an eye, the earth shifted.Email had arrived.Despite being attracted by the new technology, I promised myself that I would never stop writing letters by hand.However, I had no control over the tendency of others, and slowly, coldly, and then with quickened pace, the letters disappeared from my mailbox, having been replaced with electronic “messages” (a totally different beast—in contrast to letters, all emails look alike).
And so, like a shipwrecked man filling notes into bottles, tossing them into the waves, and hoping for the best, I continue to write longhand, licking envelopes, sticking stamps, and handing my outgoing mail to the carrier who regards me with a curious eye, as if he is looking at the last member of a species which is dying out.But he must share the pathos(伤感力), for the moment he takes my letter he says, “Thanks for your business.”
Yes, it's clear that he feels sorry for me, a man continually spitting into the wind and not learning any lessons from it.But I feel bad for him as well, walk hard through the snow, only rarely bringing me a letter from a friend, and more likely delivering advertising mails or something useless.
But it gets sadder than this.Some months ago, while thinking about but not expecting the mail, I noticed the lateness of the hour and my stillempty mailbox.By 6 that evening there was still no sign of the carrier.The next morning I called the post office.“Oh,” the cheerful voice intoned.“It got dark, so the carrier went home.”
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