Dear Wigleaf,

What they don't tell you about the moon is how unchanging it is, all dust and rocks and that one famous view of Earthrise, the photograph on the flip side of this postcard. It's always the same, that view, always there, and it comes around so often I forget to notice it.

My wife and child resumed their daily missions a few weeks ago. She suits up and rockets to the regional research station, and then I pilot our shuttle to my son's educational center. They're both loaded up with backpacks and rations and I know they'll be fine but watching them power up their respirators ramps up my anxiety. Maybe my jealousy, too. Most days, I never even leave the air lock.

My job is to stay here at the outpost and produce documents: research results, personnel updates, digital brochures for lunar real estate. I also write stories, but lately they are all about the lonely moon and I wonder if they're getting repetitive. When I can't write, I do laundry and try to make delicious, healthful meals from the ingredients my wife brings back from the supply depot. The agridomes grow tomatoes sweet as grapes, so we eat a lot of caprese salad.

I always wanted to live on the moon, and I know not everyone gets to. I'm grateful, really, just a little tired.

Maybe we'll meet you somewhere when all this is over, somewhere that isn't the moon. Maybe Denver.

Yours in Tranquility,

Gib