THE LOST LETTER
Martha sat at her workbench and felt only a mild sense of guilt. It was Saturday and her boyfriend had wanted to spend the day with her at the beach, but she needed to finish painting an order of children’s mugs for a client and, when it came to her business, which she had built into quite a successful little pottery company, she wasn’t willing to compromise. She let her gaze drift out of the window. It was a perfect day for a picnic. The sun shone enthusiastically, the sky dazzled a cerulean blue and only the very occasional ball of cloud floated across it in bewilderment, as if it had lost its way. She sighed. It would have been nice to
