Hi

You stepped through the gate. The mailbox flag is down now, your address is tucked into the box.

Anna is on the porch, painting. Coco is somewhere in the shade, breathing slowly. The first letters from the village will arrive when something ripens — never on a schedule, only on a season. Sometimes that's a painted scene, sometimes a lofi loop, sometimes a slow story about a day when nothing happens and everything does.

No need to do anything else. The next letter will find you when it's ready.

Anna