I'm climbing a mountainside alone. I lost the trail a while ago, but it doesn't really matter. The snowshoes and the lack of a schedule in the evening allow for extra twists and turns. Freedom is only in the deep snow. That's my favorite mantra while walking through the white expanses.

The pale sun dazzles through the trees weighed down by heavy snow. Do I need sunglasses in February? The snow reflects the light a thousand times over, according to my rough estimate. Apparently.

The sky's blue is deep. Summer-like, even. Against it, the fluffy shapes of the fir trees are outlined with golden edges by the sun. The entire snowy spectacle sways gently in the mountain breeze that occasionally blows. The sway is light and tender, as if someone wants the snow-laden branches to remain adorned with the snow for a while longer, and so they are careful not to push the swing's momentum too hard.

Above the tree line, I take off my snowshoes; they clatter and are in the way. I attach them to the sides of my backpack, separated from each other like quarreling opponents. I want to enjoy the silence at the summit without the clanging of metal.

A well-trodden path leads to the top, indicating that others have been here today. The snowy trail is easy to read: a few snowshoers, a large dog, plenty of boot prints. Along the sides of the path, the pristine whiteness of the snow is interrupted by snake-like, winding troughs. Freeriders often come here. I was here too yesterday, on a different side of the mountain.

But where is everyone now? Just as the landscape is about to don its most exquisite evening gown, painting itself in shades of red, blue, and violet like a royal ceremony. Sometimes I wonder how I manage to avoid the company of others during the most beautiful moments.

I can’t say it bothers me.

As the trees recede from view, the landscape unfolds in every direction. To the west, Lake Pyhäjärvi and its charming little village stand out from the blue-gray forest like a miniature model beneath the nature center's display case. Farther away, the Luosto mountain range rises like a white giant against the orange-red horizon. Gazing to the east, I think I can see all the way to Russia. Who's to say whether that tree rising on the horizon is this side of the eastern border or not? In this moment, no one can.

I sit down on a snow-covered rock on the wide mountain peak, facing the light. I start to watch the sun as it moves behind the mountain range. After a moment of stillness, I can see its movement with the naked eye. It sails steadily toward the horizon. Just before it does, it casts one last golden bath of light, illuminating the entire mountain peak.

After showing its last strength, the light disappears into the blue landscape. The golden silhouette of the trees fades away as they don their night-blue veils, appearing even heavier with it. The sun's glow lingers in the sky for a while longer, as if shouting its last words from far beyond the mountains.

Just as the still moment washes away, the cool evening mountain wind begins its turn. I detach the snowshoes from my frozen backpack. It’s their turn to carry me clattering back down the darkening slope. I navigate the journey by reading the imprints left in the snow; the slope is deserted and quiet. The others have long since departed.

Below, the village of Pyhäjärvi sleeps in the evening darkness as if in a different time. From the west, a faint red glow still lingers, the last breath of the day’s brightness. In another direction, in the darkening sky, the first stars are beginning to twinkle their own light.

I leave the snowshoes leaning against the barn wall. I shake off the accumulated snow from my hood and hat. The cold begins to nip at my fingertips, which have been exposed to the evening frost. Inside my friends' house, light glows warmly. A golden glow, indeed.

♥: Sanna