Letters to Penelope

     I had plans for this morning. A bicycle chain to replace. Leaves to burn. A letter to write to Penelope. Plans to work with my hands, lifting, re-attaching, opening and closing. I wanted to write the letter last, as a reward for all of my hard work, to relax. But the telephone rang while I was drinking coffee and reading the local paper. The telephone rang just as I finished the sentence: ...told authorities that writing the suicide note was her way of coping with "the tragic event."