I have been grooming her since birth
to write cards and letters, as soon as her little
hands could grasp an object moving in her
field of view, a few inches from her face.
She had no idea of the persistence of her
grandmother,
Mimi, who still treasures the postcard from
her own grandmother, the one with the marmot on the
front, addressed to Coucoute, that particular
handwriting so flat, yet surprisingly legible.
There is no better gift than a handwritten
letter, easy to keep, beautiful to display,
a direct line to your heart.
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