Cats fighting, waking me up. A floating log that looked just like a person. Two people in a small boat, fishing quietly at dusk. Snow on the mountaintops again. Snow on the ground again, and on my herbs and lavender, too. A tiny bird, sitting a meter away while I held my breath so I wouldn’t scare it. Three ducks following me home from the mailbox (they got some bread for their friendliness). The eagle is back. The sun, for what might have been the last time this year for me. The moon, spectacularly bright. The day I suddenly noticed it’s getting darker at five o’clock. Then four. Then three.
Proper autumn smells, then the autumn colours. On yet another pharmacy run: people who’ve celebrated pride, with brightly-coloured hair and queer flags painted on their cheeks. The return of the moon (during summer it’s too light to see it properly here). The first morning of opening the bedroom window wide and having proper cold autumn air rush into the room. The heron, camouflaged on the rocks. A lone, swimming moose.
Rule one: keep the kitchen table clear. I’ve mostly succeeded, though as mum always used to say when we were kids: there’s nothing so alluring as an empty table.
It feels strange to write a summer summary whilst wearing a wool shawl, drinking tea and watching the evening grow darker. In my defence I’ve been focused on other kinds of writing, and also just living life. July was a blur of sisters and outside and sunshine and projects, and then August came and demanded I repay the energy I’d borrowed, with an unkind interest rate to boot.
My birthday was in August. I know you’re no longer supposed to care about birthdays when you’re all of thirty-six, but I don’t care — it was lovely, and life generally needs more celebrating. In a way, this whole summer felt like one big celebration (minus the inescapable doctor’s appointments). I’m both very glad to have had it, and glad to be back to my usual calm routines.
Another month of Many Bad Things, which I dealt with by being spitefully happy whenever I could. Spent seven hours at the hospital — twice? Sing loudly and intentionally badly in the car all the way home. Tired of the apartment being a mess, wanting to fix it yourself, but too tired to do so? Self-date, complete with a fancy dress (dirty hair is fine), popcorn and a movie from the 90s. Utterly fed up with medications, appointments, being Responsible and Practical and Adult? At least thirty minutes on the sunbed in the shade, smelling the lemon thyme and the salty sea air until the world grows large again.
Three seagull babies, finally! I do get a bit obsessed with them, but they’re the closest I’ll get to having a pet and also they’re adorable. Sudden wind and dark skies, all thundery and hot. The amazing smell of summer rain. Big rainbows, apt for June. A stereotypically aloof cat. Airing out all the blankets and rugs.
Oh, May, what a ride you’ve been. There were way too many doctors for my liking, but I’m not too keen to remember that, so instead let’s pretend this month was nothing but glorious light, comfy beds and linen garments. To get in the right mood, listen to soothing piano music when reading this post (like the Peaceful Piano playlist on Spotify). Even better if you can sit by an open window, with a cool ocean breeze and the smell of freshly cut grass drifting in through white, flowy curtains. If that’s not possible, I hope my photos will help you pretend so, at least for a little while.
An otter, swimming back and forth each night at around 2 am, earning it stern glances from the seagulls currently brooding on the svaberg (the smooth rocks behind the boathouse). An eagle trying to steal seagull eggs (it’s exhausting to be emotionally invested in seagull eggs, I tell you). Russ, the high school seniors in their uniforms, in the boathouse, partying the night before our constitution day. Tiny coltsfoot (hestehov), a sign that spring is finally happening. Clean windows (thanks, mum!). Two white reindeer, an adult and a young one, taking a nap in the shade by the boathouse, then coming up to our fence to nibble at the still-dead grass.