In Post Office Bay, the winds circle and never land. The sea brings sand to shore, and takes it away again.

You asked me to tell you the origin of faith: Once, ships lay anchor in this sheltered cove, and sailors brought letters to a barrel placed past the mark of highest tide. There they left their letters and picked up others whose destinations matched their own, knowing each had been left by a man with a message, hoping another man would take their letters home in a month, or a year.