Kære Kasper,

The window did the thing again this morning... you know, the layer I told you about, where the kommune lets you tilt it and see the street fifty years back. I had my coffee and I just stood there. The bakery on the corner — gone now, of course — was right there in the glass, with that striped awning I used to walk past as a girl. A tram, even. Imagine.

I don't know why I find it so... interesting today. Yesterday it just felt sad. Today I wanted to know who decided which year you can see. Some archivist somewhere, I suppose, choosing for all of us.

Mrs. Andersen across the courtyard has started wearing those quiet hearing-loops. She waved. I waved back. The roses are absurd this year, by the way — Preben would have been smug about it. He always said the soil here remembered things.

How is the gymnasium? You haven't told me about the maths teacher. Is she still doing the Friday thing with the songs? Tell me one thing that surprised you this week. Even small.

I'll put a rose between the pages of this for you, even if it won't survive the post.

Tænker på dig, Mormor

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