MAILBOXES When I was younger, I used to imagine that the mail boxes, on our city street corners, were magic portals. They stand there ever so quietly, with uncomplaining patience. They have the serenity of the inanimate. Many of our neighbors daily fed letters into the swing hinged openings, of these round shouldered blue mailboxes. They assumed that carriers would come and pick up their letters and deliver them to the main Post Office. Then, other clerks would send the missives on to their final destinations. I always thought differently.
