Stories give objects their place.

A letter begins on a walk. Something is noticed — the way frost sits on a gate, or how the light gives up earlier each week — and it is written down before it can be tidied into a lesson.

Then it is folded. We fold by hand, badly at first, until the crease learns where it belongs. The illustration is printed separately so the fold never runs through a drawn line.

What arrives is a small, complete thing. It asks nothing of you beyond a few minutes and, perhaps, a walk of your own.