Spring has sprung, and so with it all the smells, sounds and sights that accompany it. The snow-cave in the garden is the only thing that remains of the snow, slowly decaying into a jabba-the-hutt type entity.
The buzzing and humming of wild birds and insects invades this new soundscape, a welcome return from the stillness of winter. A ginger cat appears outside the window, curious of the trapped black fly stuck to the edge of the pane.
The car tyres change also with the coming of summer. Some fresh rubber from Finland awaits in the stuga. Ah the smells of spring. Next will come the traditional yearly wax and wash of the car. Ah the smells of spring.
Coffee tastes slightly different in the heat. Not the comforting condiment it once was in winter. Its blackness and bitterness serving as a reminder of the cold and dark minus 35 degree months of winter.
After 10 months now in Sweden I wonder to myself whether I should write this blog in Swedish or English, resorting clearly to the latter. After 10 months of 5 hours a day hard-studying Swedish I still do not have the confidence to write this in Swedish, but it will come, eventually. I now speak to myself in Swedish (in my thoughts and in my head), and also speak quite well. But my English computer keyboard does not help me..
An academic living in the north of Sweden. Sometimes I wonder over my life-choices. Alas I am here and the nature is here with me, and it is fine and good. The mountains glare at me from my window, and glare back to me with a drag that says "I am waiting".
To walk again in the hills, to be battered and beaten by the wind and the rain, to be soaked and shivering on the mountain. I long for it. The tired legs and broken feet. The sagging tent and the smell of rödsprit. Oh yes.
The gear comes off the shelves, I spend a night on the thermarest, making sure everything still works as it should, and to make my body ready again. A two inch mattress, 800gram sleeping bag, and small hexagonal tipi now feels like home again (not to forget a the whiskey and snus). No surprises on the mountain or skog. Now we wait for the calendar and clock to strike the right date and time - the almighty rulers of our lives.