MARASH GIRL spied an envelope yesterday, an envelope sealed and stamped with an uncancelled stamp which sported the American flag, a long thin white business sized envelope addressed in elegant long hand with a fountain pen and blue ink. The envelope lay on the cement sidewalk, a half a block and a busy cross street away from the corner mailbox. Marash Girl helped it along. Picked it up. Walked it to the mailbox. Dropped it in. And wondered. What difference would this action make in the life of the sender or the soon to be receiver of the envelope? Did the envelope hold a payment for a bill that was long overdue? A request for money that was desperately needed? An invitation? A thank you note? A love letter? A letter beginning, "Dear John"? Marash Girl couldn't read the return address nor could she read the to whom the envelope was going, for she had not her glasses with her.
And still she wonders . . . what import do the smallest of our actions have on the lives of others?