Kære Kasper,

It rained all morning and then stopped, the way June does here now, in long bored sighs. The lindens on Valby Langgade are blooming so heavily the whole street smells of them, you can almost taste it on the tongue, like… well. You know how it gets.

I made rhubarbkompot. Far too much again. The kitchen kept asking if I wanted to halve the recipe — it has learned, I suppose, that I am one person now — and I told it no, and then turned the suggestions off entirely. Some habits are not problems to solve.

Mrs. Lund's grandchild was downstairs splashing in the gutter in a yellow raincoat. I watched from the window for a while. The roof sensors picked up his laugh and dimmed the traffic on the corner without anyone asking. Small kindnesses. Preben would have liked that one… he always said the city was a slow, patient animal.

Two jars are yours when you next come down. Don't eat them on the train, they leak.

The blossoms will be gone by Sankt Hans. Come if you can.

Knus, Mormor

— and the cat across the courtyard says hello, I think.

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