Glass Orchard

The envelope said To the orchard, and nothing else.

Mira turned it over twice. No stamp, no return address, no sign it had come through the airlock at all. She had been alone under the glass for four years, and in four years the only post had been seed catalogues from a company that no longer existed.

She read it standing between rows nine and ten, where the old Bramleys leaned on their wires like tired men at a bus stop.

Dear trees, it began. I'm sorry about everything.