It's a bright moment--a sunbreak as we say here--and I take a walk, look for a little park to sit. It's warm enough, as though fickle Spring has brought her bags and intends to stay. A day for feeling good.

And I have letters, a bonanza of letters--one from Lydia, one from Henry, and one from Sevario.

I open Lydia's first, and she talks of Kirkenes. It's still early for tourists, but she's enjoying the quiet and trying out a few new pastry tricks. She asks when I'll be coming back.

I feel so far away, as though I've traveled to a different life. I guess I have.

Next envelope, please.

Dear Misha,