No Forwarding Address

To the guest who leaves no address,

The ledger at the front desk has been turned to its last page, and the guest checking out says only: no forwarding address.

That is where this letter begins: October 1990, a thinly lit highway in the American South. The paper has faded to a cream yellow; across a narrow, heavy woodtype headline slants a fine cursive note. Dark blue halftone dots print the window of a motel, with a red key slip and a sage-green highway map, and wide bands of shadow press in around the margins as if the night were slowly closing.

You need not say where you came from or where you are going. One poet caught that mood: "At dusk, where is the road home? Mist on the river makes the heart ache." — Cui Hao, "Yellow Crane Tower" (Tang dynasty)

So go without an address for a while. At the Storm Post Office all you need is a table and a little time; when the letter is written we will post it slowly, and we will remember the rain on the road for you.

Yours, no forwarding address

Storm Post Office

October 1990 · The American South