The other morning I set out in a light drizzle on a hike up Mt. Epomeo, the island's dormant volcano. Three quarters of the way up I encountered this white plastic chair, near the entrance of Corbaro Park, a garden full of exotic plants and trees, with an adjoining outdoor cafe, for the tourists. It was closed, so I couldn't ask for an explanation of what all the magic marks were about.
Usually on a day like this I'd stay in my villa, and read, or write. But I went out into the rain because for some reason I remembered the inscription above the Corinthian columns of the entrance of the main Post Office in Manhattan:
“Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night stays these courageous couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.”
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