Dear Earthling,
Greetings from Titan, where the lakes are made of methane and the skies are mostly clear, except for the constant chance of darkness. The sunsets here are less about the view and more about the lack of view. Bring your own existential crisis; everyone else has theirs.
Wish you weren't here.
Salutations from Proxima Centauri,
A place where the grass is always greener thanks to genetic meddling. The terms "local" and "fresh" here require multi-parsec definitions. They say distance makes the heart wander. Here, they make the light years look short.
Regards from Afar, a beefjerking Malcorillian dodo
Hello from Venus,
Surface temperature: slightly toasty. Our charming sulfuric weather reports are delightfully unpredictable. Come for the volcanic activity, stay for the atmospheric pressure pretending it's a lovely bath.
Much love and hot air, the slightly singed inhabitants of Olympus Mons