ON THE BACK OF THE CARD:
Stuart Bleuet American Toad doesn't hibernate like other animals do, but he does tuck in and very nearly disappears for several months each year. ‘Very nearly’ are the proper words to use because, when one walks past his wintering place, a distinct clickity clack can be heard. Clickity clack clickity clack clickity clickity clack. And then the envelopes start appearing. Florence Williamena Snowshoe Hare, the town's postmistress, needs an entire additional postal sack just to hold all of his letters.
'Only Connect', 20th century author EM Forster so notably wrote. Too true, he thought. While biologically, like all the other toads, Stuart is compelled to hibernate, he is equally driven to keep company, even if by letter alone.
The townsfolk don't mind this a bit. His letters, always perfectly formatted on his trusty ‘Celeste’ typewriter, enhanced by illustrative pen doodles in the margin (though oft peppered with corrective dots of snowpake - he does well even at this, typing exclusively with his hinders by way of a merry little jig across the keys) are a delight to receive. Many, upon hearing the clickity clack, hope one is heading to their post box. And many believing in the cellular automata of juicy energy, send a reply back straight away. This simple annual tradition underlines how, even when we are all alone, we are never ever all alone.
5 x 7″, blank inside