I wrote letters every day while my granddaughter was in sleep-away camp for the first time when she was eight years old. I was reading the wonderful book This Is A Poem That Heals Fish by poet Jean-Pierre Siméon (full details in the Table of Contents).
Here is Letter #7:
The watercolors on my stationery are based on the gorgeous illustrations by Olivier Tallec (not tracings, but amateur attempts) in this marvel of a book. I’m hoping that my sketches and watercolors are getting better … and that Lila will know I’m thinking every day of her.
In the story, Arthur, who still can’t find a poem and is not sure that Lolo’s answer was the right one, goes to see his friend Mrs. Round, the baker. Arthur asks her what she knows about how to find a poem.
My granddaughter calls me Savta; thus the “Love, Savta” at the close.
Table of Contents for Letters To My Granddaughter Next: Letter #8 with watercolor
Love,
Mary you should have a book with your art.
Now, why do I think your granddaughter does not write back so frequently?
Your watercolor is charming, Mary.
I can visualize poor Arthur scratching his head, wondering, why no poem? But then, there's the smell, if not the taste, of that French bread fresh from the oven, and that thought of a poem just vanishes. Will he leave with a baguette in hand? Perhaps a slice or two will be his version of a poem? (Hint: no, he's got places to go.)
Love the characters' names: Mrs. Round and Ms. Point.