The single sheet of paper gently flew out of the open window, which rose six stories above the quiet back street. A breeze slipped through the small crack where the window raised above the sill. The loose paper became ensnared by the draft and slid effortlessly out into the air, where it hovered aloft like a condor catching an updraft.

The cold January air mixed with the warm drafts, which emanated from the homes and businesses below, caused a thermal wave, taking the paper soaring across the small town, unnoticed by the few people who walked the streets that blustery day. The paper rose and fell with the drafts, traveling farther and farther from the open window. Like an ill-spoken rumor, it traveled the breadth of the town, dancing from street to street. It finally came to rest near a bench in the small park that lies on the north side of the small city.

Johnathon and Simone walked the park every morning and often sat in the bench to drink coffee and feed the ducks who lived in the nearby stream. As they sipped the warm contents of their cups, Simone noticed the single sheet pf paper wrapped around the wooden leg of the bench.

“What a lovely piece of paper.” she remarked. “It looks as though it might me a letter that became separated from its author.”

Johnathon reached down and untangled it from the bench. “You’re right, dear. It is a letter. Nicely written, but by the looks of it, I’d say it’s been stranded here for a good week.”

He flattened the paper on the bench and brushed away the dirt, which accumulated upon it. “Whomever wrote this had lovely penmanship.” he said, as he turned the paper over to examine the back.

“What does the letter read?” Simone curiously asked.

“I didn’t bring my spectacles.” Johnathon replied as he handed the letter to Simone. “Here. You read it.”

Simone quickly scanned the first side, and then the second. “I do believe it’s some sort of New Year’s resolutions list.”

“What makes you ascertain this?” Johnathon inquired.

The author, whomever he or she was, talks about the previous year, with its many trials and tribulations. Ohhh. This person had a terrible 2023.”

“How’s that?”

“By the looks of the handwriting, I’m going to assume the author was a woman. And according to her words, she had many losses. Losses of friends and loved ones. Losses of material things, and losses of self.”

“Quite sad sounding, indeed.” Johnathon remarked. “Why do you say then that the letter contains resolutions?”

Simone continued as she read. “On the second side, she lists what she is grateful for and what she hopes for the coming year. Her list is humble, yet well arranged.”

Again, Johnathon asked about the contents. Simone read the hopes of the writer.

“She simply wants to find peace and happiness in her life. She wants to have the wherewithal to help others around her. Lastly, she hopes for good health in the coming year and . . .”

“And what?”

“The letter just ends.” Simone stated. “Maybe she just ran out of time. I hope she finds her happiness.”

Johnathon looked up. “Look. Here come the ducks. Let me fetch the bread crumbs.”