Beyond the City Gate

To you, watching from the gate tower,

Welcome to the Storm Post Office. This letter is sent from the gate of a town whose year is unknown. The envelope is warm ochre handmade paper; a line of assertive Roman-serif English, wound about with fluid pen flourishes. Ink lines draw the gate in elevation, roof upon roof, with blue-green folk-print clouds floating over it, a red stamp block, and a ledger page folded at one corner.

In an ancient poem someone stands on the gate tower, waiting for a person: “Pacing to and fro, back and forth, up on the tower by the gate. One day without seeing you feels like three months.” — The Classic of Poetry, Odes of Zheng (pre-Qin)

The one we wait for may not come, but a letter can arrive first. The road beyond the gate is long, and a day can feel like three months, we know; so the letters here never hurry you. We leave a lamp on the tower, and a sheet of paper on the desk.

The gate is open, the lamp is lit

Storm Post Office

Year unrecorded · The gate