Kære Kasper,

The little display on the windowsill has gone amber again... it does that now in May, can you believe it, as if spring itself were a luxury. They call it a "shoulder-season nudge." I call it a nag. I turned the heater on anyway. Just for an hour. I wanted tea that was properly hot, not the lukewarm compromise the grid prefers.

Preben would have laughed at me. He always said I argued with machines like they could hear me. Maybe they can, now. If so: good.

The magnolia on Toftegårds Allé is absolutely showing off this week. A boy rode past on one of those new slow-bikes, the ones that won't go faster than the pedestrians, and he looked so insulted by his own bicycle that I laughed out loud on the bench. First time in a while, I think.

How is the gymnasium treating you? You said the history teacher was a bit of a... well, you know what you said. Be kind to him anyway. He is probably tired.

Write when you can. Or don't, and I'll imagine it.

Din mormor, Birthe

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