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 Letters From Heaven

It was a cool March morning, a gentle breeze chilled the air, and the grass was covered with dew.  I poured a thermos to the rim with freshly brewed coffee.  I called my dog, Buddy and he jumped into his place on the back seat.  It was a good morning for exploring the backroads and lost highways.  We turned up the music and headed out looking for new adventures and to take photos of what we found.

The highways had little traffic and the more we drove the fewer houses we saw.  In the distance, we saw that the highway ended, and off we went down a dirt road.  The road got narrow, and I knew it was time to get out and walk.  Buddy and I walked about a mile when we started seeing buildings in the woods.  The silence was deep and almost made you feel its weight, heavy, dense, and the quiet foreboding.

In the distance, we heard a crow cawing and we worked our way through the shrubs.  The house was old with cracked windows and doors open.  It was like someone left in a hurry or decided that some things were not worth taking.  Two rocking chairs stood silently on the porch, rocking slightly as a breeze blew gently in the forest.  Sitting in one it felt sturdy as if built to last, and I could feel memories dancing around the old house.

We walked a little way down the overgrown dirt road and could see barns and tenant houses all around us.  The road went both left and right, a massive Packhouse barn sat majestically in the middle of the circle.  There were at least twelve buildings scattered throughout the forest.  This was a large farm, yet all the fields were overgrown.  It seemed that maybe this was a main road at one time.

Sitting on the old porch in the weathered rockers I closed my eyes and let the whispered story unfold from the mist.  I opened my eyes looking past the yard to the dirt road and noticed a mailbox.  I stood up thinking surely there could not possibly be mail in the box.  It was old and a bit rusty, yet it seemed newer than the surrounding structures.

With deep anticipation, I slowly walked to the end of the overgrown driveway and stood staring at the mailbox.  My imagination was in overdrive as I slowly opened the box seeing the paper within.  I held all the items by my side and sat back down in the rocker sorting the trash from the interesting items.

It was a varied collection, a church bulletin from 1958, a faded newspaper and a letter from a book publisher congratulating the sender on getting her poem published, and lastly a wedding invitation from a granddaughter.  My mind was unable to process all these old letters. I wanted more; I wanted a story.  Truly this was romance, love, family, and a forgotten life coming back to live again, lost memories waiting to be told.

Looking again at the mailbox I thought about what it would be like to get letters from heaven, a letter telling a son that he would be alright and have a good life filled with dreams, love, laughter, and family.  Imagine a letter telling a family that got left behind, how to till the rich dirt and make the farm prosper.

Is it possible, perhaps it is truly a blessing when we find a lost or forgotten letter, a letter from heaven?

Larry Tyler
Larry Tyler
Awaken the possibilities … then unleash them. After 55 years of successful retail management, I have returned to my passion of writing. I write Poetry, Storytelling, and Short Stories. As a child, I grew up on front porch storytelling. I would sit and listen to my Dad and his brothers tell these great stories that were captivating, and I always wanted to hear more. I wanted to experience the things they talked about. I started writing at a young age and reading everything I could get my hands on. At twelve years old I started a storytelling group and several of my friends became writers or poets. At 16 I hopped box cars and worked the tobacco fields, orange groves, picked cotton, and spent many nights around a campfire listing to life stories. Someone once asked me why I wrote. It consumes an amazing amount of time and I assure you it is not going to make me rich. I write so that my children can touch and feel my words telling of the ones that came before us and the stories they told me. These are the chronicles of our family and even though they come from my childhood memories and are deeply rooted in a child’s remembrance at least they may feel what it was like in the time before them and cherish the things the elders left behind. I am a Columnist & Featured Contributor, BIZCATALYST360 and I have The Writers Café, a group on LinkedIn that features Poets, Writers, Artists, Photographers, and Musicians . On Facebook I have two groups and one page; Dirt Road Storytelling, From Abandoned To Rescue Dogs And Cats, and About Life, Love And Living. As writers, it is true that we honestly do not know what we hold within us until we unleash it. When our words inspire others only then will inspiration return to the writer. I will spend my twilight years in search of the next story, the next poem, and the next image. I will take the time to enjoy my Wife, our Dogs, and Cats, and our amazing new home and I will always find the time to walk down a dirt road I truly hope is that I never have to read another book on Leadership, be on a conference call or see another plan o gram as these were the tool for what I did in life and not about who I am.

6 COMMENTS

  1. This story brought back memories of my mom and me exploring an old, abandoned house in the woods. We didn’t find a mailbox or old letters, but since my mom passed away in 2015, this reminder, in story form, is somewhat of a letter from Heaven. I am grateful!

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