found · among papers, opened only after his death
child —
i am writing this in the year before. i do not know which year that is. let us call it the last one, and be honest.
the watch is yours. wind it on sundays. it has stopped only once in my life, and that was for a reason, and you will know which.
i did not finish the orchard wall. that is a thing for you, if you like. if you do not, that too is fine. a low wall is also a wall.
i loved your grandmother very much, and badly. remember her gently. she was, in her last summer, kinder than i had been.
your old man —
— grandfather
a posthumous letter, sealed and shelved by the writer himself. one of those messages that comes from the same address forever, every time it is read. the seal had been broken once, and resealed by a careful hand.