Crosses in the Snow

Sweden

The blue warmth of endless skies and yellow fields of corn. An innocence and earnestness. A summer love born of isolation and midnight sun. Braids and bronzed limbs. Swims and burning logs and drowsy days meandering one into the other. Moving north and winterwards, the cold came and the land swam in a dark ice. Red wooden houses huddled silently in blank page snowy lots. The Sami gathered on frozen lakes with their herds of salty reindeer and sang back peach melba sunsets, filling the whiteness with their every rainbow colour.

Sweden

We drove for hours due north in the black day night, the chains snapping on the ice. Deep inside the artic circle the outside temperature plummeted as the speed needle gently rose.

The palace of ice loomed above the snowy trees and pulsed with an enamel light. Walking through its towering wooden gates the ice air froze in my nose and caused me to gasp with shock.

We drank vodka from blocks of ice and slept on reindeer skins draped over a frozen Viking boat, interwoven and curiously warm. The northern lights dusted the clear skies lime and violet and the huskies moaned and lamented. ‘Why and who?’ they cried and mourned the loss of the summer sun.

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Crosses in the Snow

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