Dear Havila:
I'm not very good at writing letters yet.
Recently, Aunt Besser went to the Whale Sea again, dancing in the trough of the waves with the surfboard you made, and the tiny sparkles from her wings turned into stars.
The light elves in the forest gather together every evening and turn into small, glowing versions of you, sitting quietly on the moss stone where you often sit.
Dangao was lost again. Mrs. Danta said she was going to take away his Tamu, but she secretly put a sunflower wrapped in honey in his pocket, the kind you taught me to make.
Grandpa Jianshu's cane boat is still waiting by the stream. He said the boat remembers your weight, so it floats empty for a while every day.
A blue fire butterfly flew to my jewelry store and always landed on the leaf hairpin you gave me. Banli's chestnuts were piled into a hill, and each one was polished and placed in your home's warehouse.
Havila, the wind here will move slower when it passes by your door. At your door, I can always see the color of everyone's pupils more clearly.
Do you have any glowing moss there? Are there any flaming maple leaves?
Tavy who hasn't learned metaphors yet
Written in the jewelry store we built together
(Hidden in the letter: Aunt Besser's newly developed seawater fabric, Dan Gao's red wine yeast sweet beans, Mrs. Danta's Tam necklace, Grandpa Arrow Tree's rattan boat drawings, my glazed antelope horns, and Banli's warm chestnuts.)
Concept: foreign land and homeland