The Evemen Letters | IV

Dear Faithful Reader,

Forgive me, for my late reply! I’m currently in the Town of Stratushire, on very important business - I shall tell you in due course.

I’m staying in a small abode, a friend of a friend of a friends, and I write this in deep earnest, as earnestly as the wind blows outside my window. For, it blows such a gale here, a ruckus of the greatest kind, all the time. This is manner I write in! Not to say I desire to cause a ruckus, but rather I write earnestly.

It was just last Thursday, the day after my arrival in Stratushire, that I was astonished beyond belief! Baffled beyond compare. Reader, though I judge un-essentially (of course), I found it most hard to comprehend the rhythms of this town. It’s most peculiar indeed, with all its early Daffodils and Easter Eggs.

Mind! This stays between you and me, good reader, for I did have to ask the green grocers, the ones in Stratushire, not Mr. Verdsmith, what an Easter Egg actually was; not that he sold Easter Eggs but I was of the firm belief he was the best to ask. He seemed a lovely, fine fellow.

As I shopping in the afternoon, he began to tell me what they were.

“And made of chocolate!” He had exclaimed.

“Chocolate!?”

“Why yes, chocolate.”

“Whatever for?”

“To eat, I believe, good sir.”

I had now come to the conclusion I was severely wrong in my understanding of what Easter Eggs were. Dear reader, I must inform you as well, in case you fall to the same inaccuracies that fell upon me.

They are indeed in the shape of eggs, very misleading, but much larger and not as heavy. Much bigger than my head in fact, definitely larger than my fist, and assuredly larger than my finger. Instead of being proper eggs, as we know them, with yolks and such, they are, quite bizarrely, made of chocolate! Milk chocolate, to be precise (well, most of the time). If you remember, it’s the chocolate in-between white and dark, sort of…brown? Sometimes, they might have a pattern on them, of no particular design but they are sought after so eagerly.

Now, I was only prompted to pursue this due to Thursday Mornings incident. When, upon coming down the stairs, I turned the corner, and lo’and behold! Yellow, blooming daffodils sat right upon their sturdy oak cabinets, with Easter Eggs sat aside them! You can now, I trust, understand my previous astonishment, and earnest.

“What—..How…Why?” I was most shocked, you must understand. “Is it not January?” I talk to myself quite often (as any person full of common sense should).

It seems I have committed another inaccuracy in understanding. Apparently, here, they celebrate everything 2 months early. But, if anything should be questioned, it is how they got them in the first place, for I was under, perhaps another false impression, Daffodils only start blooming February, and thus, unattainable since then.

Thus, the past few days have been full of the preparations for the celebration, and I remain as confused, flustered and topsy-turvy as ever, with barely enough time to write this letter!

I travel back down this coming Thursday and shall write to you in due course about the events and business I’m here on!

Unfortunately, I have only brought 7 books with me, and only 57 teabags. Not nearly enough for a trip of this length, thus, boredom shall have to accompany me for the reminder of my evenings. Instead, I’ll be happy to hear that you have settled down with a warm cup of camomile, a book and a blanket.

Until next time,

Your Confused Writer,

Mr. Evemen