sometimes the day collects itself, like a briar at the post office, like a clover lost in the dense grass. and then a parcel arrives: black muslin wrapped in pink paper, and you wrap yourself in a new robe, in this softness of handmade work, and realize that everything random is suddenly forming a pattern.

do you ever have days where even the post office becomes a place for small discoveries?

photographer, graphic designer and just a crypto enthusiast

how beautifully you described such a seemingly prosaic event👍