there is a tiny prequel associated with my leaf, being that i was dashing off to town for lunch when i caught sight of the day’s post on the dining table and snatched up a single envelope as i ran out the door. for i could see at once who it was from and did not wish to wait till i came home to read it. when ensconced in a cab some minutes later i took it out to open and found steve had traced the outline of a leaf on the back of the envelope: to prise the flap open would have destroyed his artwork, and i had not so much as a bobby pin to pull from my hair to slit the top open. of course it could wait till i got home — it might have come the day before even, so derelict am i about taking in the post in general. still, there i was at the restaurant making small talk, with my purse on my lap, furtively fingering my envelope within (it felt thick, the letter must be a long one) wishing i could read it in private. then — what luck — both my lunch companions left the table at the same time and i saw my chance. no waiter was in sight to disapprove: one would have seen me seizing my unused dinner knife and inserting it under the flap and slicing clumsily through the top. i extracted my letter — with any luck i could read it all before the others came back. there was no need: what was uncovered said it all. i had spoken often of sending him a pressed leaf from the tropics, but he had sent one (‘a most elegant shape’) from his world, first.
Best of the Transparent Hummingbird