Pen Pals ( Archived) (18)

I have to go now but will check in later.

I don't know if I could leave long enough to type, I find on my post these days I chop up my sentences so bad so I can get to the next thread. And so I can get back to the farm on fb, it's terrible.
I am surprised my keyboard isn't smoking.

See you a little later then, have a good day

Thanks to the people who have e-mailed me. Hope we can stay in touch and shoot the breeze.

I have heard people doing this and always wanted a pen pal, hope from this I can make some new long term friends.

i'll be your pen pal kitty .............

I once wanted to be the pal of another pal, be so through the magic of the written word traveling miles and miles, yet as if it was spoken to your person. I was 10 or 11.

I imagined the intimate document was carried by horsed couriers, men in hats with three corners, and square shaped shoulder bags in leather somewhat damaged by the seasons they urged their horses to gallop fast through.
- Run my steed, make like a full force gale, we carry urgent goods, run my steed run my only travel companion!

I wanted to write these letters with a feather fountain pen. It was of utmost importance that I was a feather. Only, there was none such to be found in any of the stores in my neighborhood, why I decide to make my own pen, out of my own feather.

The target I had decided would be my deliverer of a suitable feather was one of the magpies stealing fruit in our garden. I brought out my landing net and made a trap by the simple means of resting an edge of it on top of a 30cm vertically stood stick, at the midst of the stick a 6m long string tied, and I, of course, on the other end of the string, hiding behind one corner of our house, I, ready to pull the string, thus the stick away, and the net fall over my prey.

I placed bait under the net. Nothing worked. Apple, pear, egg, canned fish, mom’s fresh baked bread, chicken, nuts, cracker, cookie, cake, a piece of leftover steak, pasta, nothing.

They’d come over, the magpie, be stood right next to the net, look at the bait, and then annoyingly they would fly off. With each bait I tried they ventured closer and closer, and increasingly annoyed by it, they would take to flight without an attempt at taking it.

There’s not much patience in a ten year old, so after a couple of hours without success I thought to myself:
- I can’t get this bloody trap to work, and without it working I can’t catch myself a magpie off which I can pluck a feather to make a feather fountain pen, and without a feather fountain pen I’m not writing a single word, so fu** you pal, you can shove your letters!