at the p.o.

A clump of little silver bells jingles pleasantly every time the door opens. Once I'm inside my senses are met with wonderful scents and soft music. There's not a flourescent light in the place, and the carpet is soft under my feet. I join a short line and look at the four women (and one man) wearing aprons at the counters. I'm at a post office "store" that I discovered in a nearby town. I try to save all my postal business for the days I'm in that town because it is simply delightful there. Seems I often go on a rainy day, and the place is just a whopping dose of coziness.

I watch carefully hoping that when my turn comes it's a woman whose station is free. Seems the women are not just strictly business like the man tends to be. They let me take my time picking out stamps; it's obvious they have the same appreciation of stamp beauty that I do. We may talk about who I'm mailing my package to, the new stamps, or some other chit chat. Last time I was there each woman opened her drawer in search of a cartoon stamp for me to use on my niece's birthday card. Before long they were all laughing and carrying on about it. And the women seem to understand it takes a few seconds to gather things together before leaving the counter.

On the way out, there is a whole counter of resale things, soft chairs to sit on, and a table for kids to play at. Whoever planned this place knew what they were doing.