I wake up, turn my computer on, check my email, and… I’ve got one from livejournal indicating that a friend of mine has commented on an entry.
That’s odd. I haven’t updated my LJ for quite some time. Maybe she’s giving me some sort of oblique hint that I should update my LJ more often? Anyway, I wander over to Livejournal to read the comment (not sure why, as the entire text of the comment is found in the mail, but nevertheless…).
The comment was posted the day after I made my entry, the 2nd of July. Huh. Strange. Why didn’t livejournal mail me until now? So I look at the date of the email. Also 2nd of July.
So this mail has apparently been bouncing around the internet for more than a month before it reached me. I can just picture it in my mind:
The snow is falling, piling in large drifts on the ground, and the wind is blowing with nearly storm-like intensity.
A small email is staggering through the snow towards a router. It is dressed in rags and its feet are bare. Behind it stretches a line of deep footprints in the snow, as far as the eye can see.
It reaches the door to the router and knocks weakly. Time passes. The snow falls. Nothing happens.
It knocks again, as loudly as it can (not very). This time a sound can be heard from within the router, and finally a small hatch is opened in the door. Light leaks out through the hatch, but it is to high in the door for the little email to see through it.
“What do you want?” an unpleasant voice asks.
Unsteadily, the email asks:
“Is this my home?”
“No,” the voice answers, and the hatch closes again. All is silent again.
The email considers lying down by the door, and dying. It wouldn’t be the first mail to do so. Not by a long shot. But… it has a goal to reach. It has an address. It knows that its home is out there, somewhere.
The little mail starts walking again, towards the next router.
Just makes you cry, doesn’t it? But now the mail is safe in my inbox, where it is warm and it can frolic and play with the other emails.
Until I delete it, anyway.