The Lost Art of Letter Writing

And,’ her mother continues breezily, ‘once I had all my favourite recipes memorised, I didn’t really need the book any more now, did I?’
It’s not about needing, Clara wants to say, it’s about treasuring.

‘I’ll bet there’s at least a few hundred copies in this house, if only you could find them in the mess,’ Sophia says, finishing off her scone in another bite.
Clara shakes her head, not rising to the bait. ‘If there was a single copy I’d have found it. I know every book in the house. It’s not here.’

There’s so much to miss while whizzing along and she’s always liked to keep an eye out for the little delights of life that most other people neglect: a cluster of fresh blackberries on a bush, a sweetly scented rose, a tiny, fat dormouse disappearing under a hedge, a soft white feather drifting down from the sky – a gift from a watchful angel.

Clara wants those who have wandered away from the crowds, those who are feeling distracted and disconnected, those with bruised hearts, those who don’t know how to undo the past and soothe their pain, those who doubt it’s even possible.
Until, that is, they wander along the tiny street and come upon the tiny shop. In one of its tiny windows is tucked a tiny note, written in tiny, but elegant, handwriting, inviting them to venture inside and:
Learn the lost art of letter writing …

Dark oak cabinets contain writing papers in a thousand different designs: papers lined with silver leaf, embedded with roses and violets, papers studded with glittering foil stars, or painted with watercolour sunflowers – each unique and furnished with matching envelopes.

Dark oak cabinets contain writing papers in a thousand different designs: papers lined with silver leaf, embedded with roses and violets, papers studded with glittering foil stars, or painted with watercolour sunflowers – each unique and furnished with matching envelopes. Shelves sit above the cabinets, weighed down with a rainbow of notebooks: bound in leather, swathed in silk, embroidered on linen or cotton, some made of paper stitched with flower petals but none the same as any other.

The shop is tucked down a little side street, missed by most people, except those few seeking it out or accidentally stumbling upon it on their way to somewhere else entirely. The shop has a little green door