Seven Sisters

It is 7:30 P.M. Two letters, sealed, stamped and addressed, are waiting patiently on the family room table. They are not in a hurry to sit for long, cold hours in the big black mailbox at the top of the hill. But they are, however, excited to be picked up and settled in the pockets of a bright orange hoodie that is their temporary vehicle to the said  black mailbox.
It is only a half mile walk, but there are so many stars to look at and so much gossiping  for the letters to do that the time passes far too quickly. The letters delight in that few minutes. They alternately  watch the sky and whisper letter-like secrets to each other, finding  that their information, once shared, is depressingly similar: a bit of news, some poetry, and random musings and responses which will probably make sense to whoever receives each letter, but makes none whatsoever for the sheets of pencil-marked stationary. The stars, on the other hand... this is something that the letters know a bit about. Their kind has gone on so many moonlit walks and listened to so many human exclamations over the night sky that they could recognize at least a few constellations. Orion, for instance, looks fabulous tonight (his belt in particular seems to glitter with unusual intensity). Cassiopeia, the crown of the sky, is located at the end of a translucent thread, on the other side of which is the handle of the big dipper. The pendant for this invisible chain is the North Star, so small, but bright and twinkling against it's cushion of smooth blackness. But by unanimous agreement of all the letters that ever traveled between the house on the hill and the big black mailbox, the Seven Sisters is the general favorite.
"It's so illusive", they say in hushed voices from within the orange sweater pocket.
"All those pale, starry-eyed daughters of the sky... and yes, that was a pun," says one voice defensively inside it's envelope.
"You should make a poem on them; part of it could be the sentence you just used. But you didn't have to tell me about the pun, I would have known without an explanation." This last was said haughtily, but not enough so to annoy the first letter too much.
"Ahhh, here we are at the transportation box! I can't wait to see where I'm going," declared one of them.
"You mean to say that you can't feel her handwriting and decipher it's meaning? Why, I'm quite efficient at that particular art. But of course, you are sooo much younger than me that you can't be expected to have learned such things yet." The letter smiled condescendingly, gloating over those ten minutes of existence that the other letter hadn't partaken of. He heard a sniff of disdain from the other pocket and began to sulk; he had hoped for a more dramatic response.
Then the letters were placed in the mailbox, or "transportation box" as they would call it, and their voices faded away, still discussing the Seven Sisters and boasting about their various limited abilities. High above them, floating in a distant universe, the said "pale, starry-eyed daughters of the sky" laughed whimsically together over the foolish notions of the two earthling letters. That is, they laughed for the next several hours,  until they melted with the coming of dawn.