Postmistress Thistledown here, with another letter from the mailbag. I would call this one, “A Complaint About Time:.
Today’s letter came directly to me, tied to a pine cone and dusted with silver sand. The writer, had this to say:
“Dear Postmistress,
I keep losing hours. They fall out of my pockets. One moment it’s dawn, and then—tea time, with no tea made. Where is time going? Can you arrest it? Or at least ask it to slow down?”
Sincerely,
A Clock-Eyed Crow
My dearest Crow,
You are not alone. Time has been slippery lately—so many fair folk have reported missing minutes, lost mornings, and suspiciously fast sunsets. I suspect the gnomes are up to something, or perhaps Time is simply in one of her sprinting moods again.
Here is my advice: Braid a ribbon into your day. Literally. Choose a ribbon, any ribbon. Every hour, tug it. Whisper, “This hour is mine.” Time can be tamed with small rituals. (She respects anyone who dares to notice her.)
Also: if you’re behind on tea, come by the post office. We always keep a pot on.
With tick-tocked affection,
—The Postmistress