VĂ„rvindar friska

Because it reminds me of the good things in my past – playing the guitar with a friend while singing the German version of this song horribly out of tune (to quote my little sister: she said something along the lines of “the two of you are singing three voices”), riding without saddles on ponies in the forest on a stormy day, meeting a guy friend of mine in a pub to practise talking English, singing and playing Irish songs in a small room at church after youth service on Saturday nights.

And the song fits the mood of one (emotional) landscape in my fictional world. The rider at night, watching the northern lights on the heath, following the polar star, and sleeping under a roof of reed to wake up in cold morning sun over foggy moorlands a day’s ride from home. She could have been me.

the smell of winter (a haiku)

fog and wood-fire
cold air full of promises
the smell of winter


My haiku for today. So much fog. It made the train ride across the arms of the river more interesting; I was hardly able to see any water, but the little banks of land with golden trees looked beautiful and mythical when appearing out of the fog, just to fade again. The scent of burning wood from some chimneys, the sharp cold in the morning just above zero degrees … it makes me feel alive.