Things, and no context.

Dearest Chwoka,

The Fall is hard on my Summer-tanned back. A chill wind bites my ears and messes with my hair. I miss you.

The days are brief and in them I can only write and wait, hoping that the message is received and a reply returned. The Autumn's harvest has begun, and the beets were the first to be pulled from the ground. Fried beets, baked beets, and borscht will feed us for the week, with sliced dried beets for treats for the Winter. When I cut into the beets and they bleed their red all over my hands, I think about the things we did to get here, to escape our old lives.

I expect to harvest the celery and sweet potatoes within the month, I can feel the frost's return approaching. Kale can wait, but the carrots and parsnips shouldn't be left either.

I found a brooch the other day when I was out harvesting beans (there is no end to them!) with unusual patterns of spiraling green discs, almost like lilipads but more perfect. It is woven together with a gold metal and was only covered in a little mud. I can't wait to show you!

When will you return? I know you said soon, but when is soon? I miss you.

Sincerely, Reyweld.