Hyacinths and Biscuits

This letter is quite belated. If you didn’t read about it in my earlier post, in March I was supposed to write a letter to every member of my semi-immediate family (it is a long story involving a Christmas present of a cigar box stuffed with envelopes and stamps and very clear instructions). Anyways, I failed writing to a few people and I am determined to finish on this trip. One of the persons was my mom. I apologize, I didn’t get extremely sentimental or write anything too profound, so don’t get your hopes up. The card was actually purchased from my visit to the Orchard house (aka: Louisa May Alcott’s residence) in Boston and my drawing was done right after my visit to the Carl Sandburg house, outside Asheville. I don’t think she will mind if I share this here. Sorry mom, if you care. I can write you another. Also, there is a high probability you won’t be able to read my chicken scratch (also, note the obvious multiple personalities of my hand-writing). And with that, a smattering of images:

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