Many years ago I received a notecard from a friend with the question “How do you send a whisper on paper?” written on the front cover.  I have lived with this question for a long time…Here is one answer in the form of a poem about a Trumpet Vine growing around our old mailbox. We planted our new mailbox next to the original clipping.

Whisper
My living, breathing mailbox
started as a plant clipping that my father gave me.
Re-rooted, it grew into something more:
More bush than box
More vine than trumpet
More green than orange
More leaf than flower
More home than away
More trellis than post
More overgrown than pruned
 
Taking hold in new locations,
Neither here nor there.
Less address more envelope
Less envelop more postage
Door opens, arm goes in.
 
Sometimes the mailtruck passes by our house,
the driver not seeing a mailbox.
Other times, a backward glance, a double-take,
A pause.
A hand unlocks a secret garden or the door at the
back of a wardrobe.
A hand places gifts in the knothole of a tree,
like those passed from Boo Radley to Scout and Jem,
surprise treasures left for us to retrieve.
 
We watch hummingbirds hover over newfound blooms.
We delight in this box like no other we have seen.
In our driveway, we pause & see it on our way to
Wherever it is that we are going next.
Pulling into our driveway, the leaves brush the side of our car:
Sending a whisper on paper.