Until the Morning Tide

To those who wait for daylight,

It is late, the lamps on deck go out one by one, and the ship goes on. This letter was written aboard an ocean liner, February–March 1991, on pale paper the color of sea glass. The title is a bold, elegant maritime serif built from geometry, above a dark blue, perfectly symmetrical ship's bow and compass. There is a cream deck-plan panel and a muted peach luggage strip, as if a traveler had just set down a trunk.

The ship cannot come into harbor until morning, until the tide rises. A poet wrote of such a night at the sea's edge: "The little waves, with their soft, white hands, / Efface the footprints in the sands, / And the tide rises, the tide falls." — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls" (1880)

The sea can wipe out footprints, but not a letter. Welcome. There is no need to hurry tonight; write down first what you want to tell someone, and when the morning tide arrives, the letter will come into harbor with the ship.

Until the morning tide

Storm Post Office

February–March 1991 · At Sea