Glasshouse Reverie

To you, among the ferns,

Welcome to the Storm Post Office. This letter was posted from the glasshouse of a great estate, 1929. Iron ribs hold up a dome of glass, vines curl slowly around the frame, and on sage cotton paper the copperplate script loops among the stems like a scent that will not leave. The city outside is busy counting its money; in here there are only wet leaves and afternoon light.

A sheet of translucent botanical tissue peeks out from the edge of the envelope. Hold it to the light and the veins appear one by one. Someone once wrote: "All that we see or seem / Is but a dream within a dream." — Edgar Allan Poe, A Dream Within a Dream (1849)

Rain on a glass roof sounds like many fingers knocking softly. Read slowly. When you feel like writing, answer us on a page of your own; the wine-red seal is still unstamped, waiting for you.

With rain on the glass,

Storm Post Office

1929 · The Glasshouse