Not one bill.
Not one advertisement.
At least, not for years.
It’s painted a cheerful shade of bright green, mounted on a weathered wooden post, and tucked beneath a large maple tree where hundreds of people pass every week.
The first time I noticed it, I assumed it was simply an old decoration.
Its mail slot looked too small for envelopes, and there was no house nearby that it belonged to.
Then I watched a little girl skip up to it.
She carefully opened the tiny door, reached inside, unfolded a colorful piece of paper, smiled from ear to ear, and skipped away as if she’d just discovered buried treasure.
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