The Mail Drop

A sudden clatter broke the quiet as the front door's brass mail slot flapped open and shut, dropping a stiff, glossy postcard right onto the mat. Draped in the thick wool scarf from earlier, I stepped forward to examine it. I lowered my head and pressed one plush hoof gently onto the slick paper corner, nudging it toward the patch of noon light spilling under the threshold. The printed image showed green park trees and wide brick paths under an open sky. Resting my muzzle against the cool gloss, the paper smelled faintly of fresh ink and breezy streets, stirring a quiet wish to venture beyond the door.