Letters
I’ve written much about my father on this blog. Of our shared interests in photography. Of our shared interests in food, cooking, history and dozens of other things. But of all, what fascinated both of us was writing letters to each other.
Yesterday, I was looking back at a few he’d written to me. But unlike reading them in detail as usual, I merely looked at them intently. Following the shapes the trusty Parker had drawn, in blue/black ink, on ruled A4 sheets. Through the ramrod straight Ts, through the delicately flowered Gs, through the curvy Cs and perfectly rounded Os and finished off with the most beautiful flourish of the Ss.
That handwriting.
Each character, each detail a piece of art. Each stroke, each comma showing real intent. Each heavy dot, each thick line revealing pauses. Each thin line, each letter joins showing speed. Each new word, each new quote teaching.
Each letter ending with “With Love”.
