Tuesday Letters

When my siblings and I began to leave home, my dad wrote weekly to those of us who were away. He used a manual typewriter and carbon paper to assure that we all were kept up to date (as many as 5 of the 8 of us, at once). My friends made sure they had lunch with me on Tuesdays, the day his letter arrived, so that they could hear his take on everything from weasels in the garden to weasels in the White House. This occasional letter honors his practice.

St. Petersburg, FL
April 6, 2026

Dear Ones,

We saw only one car as we walked toward the bay to watch the sun rise on Easter Morning. We found an empty bench at first light, wondered if the grackle that hopped between tree and ground was one bird or a pair taking turns feeding their young. Cyclists swarmed along Bayshore Drive, their glo-vests reflecting each other’s headlights. A few runners were shuffling as they ended their run, while others kept up a banter as their paced picked up in the dawning light.

As blue light began to show hints of pink, we spotted a fisherman in Vinoy Park, and, as if to signal his success, gulls began to squawk. We thought the boat’s mast ahead of us unusually tall until the blue light was gone and the pink began to fade into yellow. The mast was not tall – the boat to which it belonged was just fifty feet away! White light began to fill our vision, and we wondered at the haze.

Two ladies, who looked like my grandma in hats decorated with ribbon, lace and plastic eggs, began to greet all passers-by with a cheerful “Happy Easter”. I felt as I did when I was eight, frustrated with my mom because she was cooking when we were meant to practice solemnity on Good Friday. And then…

…as a point on the horizon began to glow orange, people paused all round us, but no one blocked our view. I watched the sun rise in silence with a crowd. In response to Art’s whispered question “Are you ready to go?” I nodded, turned to the ladies, wished them Happy Easter and skipped away (well, almost…I am over 70 😊).
Morning had broken and so had my reverie.