(Author's Note - written for adultfiction 's Creative Writing Prompt - The Letter.
Word count 500 words)

My daughter is a millennial and I don't believe she has ever written a letter in her life. Well, not a real letter, one written on a sheet of paper using a pen, then folding it into an envelope, licking the stamp and posting it in a letter box. Then counting the days until it could be expected to arrive at its destination, and watching for the postman to deliver the reply. (I don't remember there being postwomen back in the day...)

Nowadays it's all texting, Facebook messaging, and tweets and WhatsApp and goodness knows what else, not to mention Zoom and Skype. You can even have conversations with someone on the other side of the world in the time it takes to logon to your tablet or computer. Instant communication, as long the time zones align and the other person is awake. Unbelievable, really.

I remember the first time I travelled overseas to Europe, back in the 1980s. Three weeks. That's how long it took for a letter to reach Australia from Scandinavia or indeed most of northern Europe, and vice versa. And southern Europe? Excuse me for chuckling. At least four weeks... if you were lucky. Mail services between England and Australia were the fastest, four working days if you posted on a Thursday, an advantage of being part of the Commonwealth. And then, of course, another four or five days for the reply. I remind myself of this occasionally when I wait impatiently for a reply from a friend on the other side of the world, on Wattpad, lol.

And who else remembers "Poste Restante"? When you had planned your trip and worked out your travel schedule, you would single out a few of the larger cities, and advise friends and family that was where they could send you mail in advance. Then when you arrived at London, Paris or Florence or wherever, you would go to the main Post Office and queue up at the Poste Restante counter. Showing your passport would (hopefully) result in a letter or two being handed over. Your only contact with the folks back home, unless you booked an expensive international call (accompanied by time delays when speaking) at the post office, but that's another story.

I remember I was in Florence at the time of my birthday the first year I went travelling. Despite asking them to check under my surname, and first name, several times, there was apparently nothing there for me. The clerk shrugged. I was quite upset. Several months after I returned home, my parents received the card they had sent to me, returned from Italy, marked "non raccolti" (Eng – not collected).

Nowadays, the only letters I receive are at Christmas time, when a few friends still write the "Christmas letter" to friends and family, sharing all their activities for the year, though sometimes even they arrive as email attachments.

But though sometimes I miss the thrill (and the detail) of letters, would I want to go back?