Midsummer at the cabin

The first thing to greet us as we approached our middle-of-the-forest paradise was a startled reindeer that obligingly ran alongside the car so I could document it.


The second welcome came from the wealth of buttercups that dotted the entire lawn.




The first day was lovely and bright, the kind of day when the sky is white and endless.




On my walk, I was accompanied by a fearless butterfly that fluttered along in front of me and landed to let me snap dozens of closeups. Look how the light filters through those gossamer wings.


And look at its tiny, furry face! How often do we pay attention to the faces of butterflies? We’re too seduced by their colourful wings.


In this one it looks like it’s stumbling home after a night on the town!


The lingonberry bushes were flowering.



Back at the cabin, we made a miniature maypole in the garden.



Dinner was served on the fire. 🙂


The buttercups glowed in the light of a torch.

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And afterwards I went up to where the forest used to be and watched the clouds blush at the setting sun.


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And somewhere here, among the fallen trees and under the dramatic sky, I lost my battery charger, so the rest of the weekend went undocumented. Maybe it was for the best. It rained the entire time and I needed some rest – the kind of rest I call non-days, that is days when time passes from your first coffeecup to your final glass of wine without even touching you; when you somnambulate through the afternoon like a ghost through the grey gauze separating us from eternity; when there’s just a big Nothing where you usually live your life.

Sometimes I resent these days, because I like to pretend that I can live two lives at once, at the speed of light. But after a period of high activity, I always find myself in these empty slumps, as if they’re the price I must pay for living too much, for hoarding time and experiences. It’s a balance sheet, and I never get away with too much greed – or too much work. I guess it’s my body’s way of making sure I don’t exceed my ‘income’.

And today I took the bus into town to buy a new charger. It’s as symbolic as it gets. 🙂




Small and unassuming

This post and the links in it contain advertisements for my book.


I turn to see Henrik smiling at something on the ground. I walk over and peer down at the carpet of tiny white petals. “Ah, the arctic starflower.”

“Chickweed wintergreen,” he playfully corrects me.

“I prefer the arctic starflower. It sounds so….” I gesture vaguely. “Mysterious,” I settle for, but it sounds so ridiculous that I blush. It makes Henrik laugh, but it’s not a mean laugh. It sounds knowing. As if, once again, we share something.

“Yeah, it’s supposed to be seen in twilight, isn’t it?” he says.

I squirm. “Perhaps. It’s just… it’s such a small and unassuming flower. You can walk right past it and not even notice.”

Henrik raises an eyebrow that looks disconcertingly flirty. “Is that a metaphor?”

I give him a look. “You think I’m small and unassuming?”

His gaze flickers down to my belt and then back up. “Well, you do kind of apologize for existing.”

(The Seventh Flower by Ingela Bohm)


Christer isSeventhFlower[The]FS_v1 too old to believe in fairy tales. He’s not the kind of guy to pick the proverbial seven flowers on Midsummer’s Eve so he can dream of who he will marry, and he certainly isn’t the type to fall for someone he’s just met. Especially not a womanizing blogger named Henrik.

Besides, Christer’s previous marriage didn’t end with a happily ever after. Therefore, he has no interest in gifting his heart to someone who lives five hundred miles away and probably isn’t even gay. His family is right: it’s time he grew up and stopped dreaming.

But Midsummer’s Eve in Sweden is a magical night, and Henrik won’t stop flirting. As the midnight sun shines down on the misty woods, maybe there’s room for one last dream.

Available at Dreamspinner and Amazon


Blushing blooms

This week has seen our national day come and go, and also the end of the school year. I haven’t blogged about it because I didn’t have anything to tell you about it (or couldn’t be arsed to), but these images can stand in for everything I didn’t say.


The trees grow in front of the church where we always have our end of year ceremony with the students, and when they flower it’s absolute magic.



Nights in white satin…



I know ours are later than almost everybody else’s, but that doesn’t take away from the breathless beauty of these apple blossoms.



Without a particular subject


Tonight I just had to document the sky. I discovered the spectacle much too late, so I missed most of it, but there were loads of small, golden clouds towering over each other like spangled dollops of clotted cream.


Never mind finding a subject and an angle, I just had to snap away.

And here, suddenly, this pink calm.

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If you don’t mind travel sickness, here’s a really shaky video of my walk.

The lure of the non-darkness

I can’t help it. When the moon comes outso do I. I’m not mad. I want to see where it goes.

(The Moth, Catherine Cookson)


Lord, I was tired last night after a whole day of working in the basement, but when hubby said that there was mist gathering down by the lake, I couldn’t stay inside. I had to document my first bright night of the season.


It was half past midnight when I left the house, and these images are taken at around 1 am.


To really capture the drifting tendrils of mist and the bird song, I made a video.


Deserted midnight road to nowhere – or to untold adventures? Maybe they’re the same thing.



These little fellas were all over the osier the entire weekend.



I’ll take a leaf from their book for the upcoming week, when there’s a ton of things to do: paint the house, record a radio programme, and grade my pupils just to name a few. And of course my long dormant writing inspiration takes this opportunity to rear its head. Ideas for an Advent story are crowding into my mind, believe it or not. Must be something in the water.



This weekend at the cabin became a little different. A new couple has bought the house next door, and the previous owner harvested all the trees that he owned in the surrounding forests. We came there just in time to see it happen.

Some trees are always left so that they can drop new seeds and secure the rebirth of the forest. They were marked with these red ribbons of salvation.

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It reminded me of the song Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree, which I kept singing all through the weekend. “Do you still want me?” Yes, these happy few were still wanted alive.



As an aside, down by the stream a different kind of forester had made short work of the best birches. If all goes well, I’ll have a post about beavers sometime during the summer. I just need to muster the patience to sit there with my camera and wait…


Paradoxically, everything seemed to be fading and dying, wilting and withering. Maybe to make way for the new.