These days the only other humans I see regularly apart from my partner are our postal delivery persons.

Some days it’s the Chinese-Australian man in his 30s, other days it’s the Indian-Australian man in his 50s.

Since last week we have telepathically established a new routine where they’d honk if they see our blinds up, so that I can go to the gate and receive our mail and parcels from them by hand.

They usually get out of their vans and stop to chat for a minute or two over our gate, before rushing off on their string of deliveries.

In our brief moments together, they ask how WFH is going for me, I ask how business is going for them.

Some days we vary our conversational routine and ask each other if we have eaten, if our families are well, if our spirits are still okay.

Today they handed me this precious assortment of care mail from friends in three cities, and now my heart is full.

There are little joys in everyday things.