This morning on the beach I noticed an unusual piece of junk.
The sea had given back this rusted, antique Remington typewriter.
Maybe a writer had tossed it overboard in a moment of frustration.
Maybe a storm swept it in from a foreign land.
Maybe it was Hemingway’s.
The typewriter was in recognizable but poor condition.
There were only a few keys left, but by some mysterious coincidence, the two initials that held the most significance to me. What are the odds!
I plucked them off and put them in my pocket.
It seemed to be a message from the universe: keep on writing. Or keep on loving. Or both.
I promise I will.
PS – If your name is Owen or Oprah, there is still the ‘O’ key left.