Tiring Light
It's not just the light's fault. But exhaustion has been at the surface in recent weeks. The hardest part is allowing it to be. When I feel the urge to go, do, and see so much—sometimes even with a seemingly pointless rush. As if time is running out. Now, when I’m tired, it’s difficult to accept that and let it be. To rest as much as I need to.
My environment has a significant impact on my mood. In the city, it lowered my spirits, and weekend trips to nature by car didn’t help. Here in the north, I find great enthusiasm, energy, and inspiration in my surroundings. Now, with the arrival of spring—yes, I have to admit that spring seems to have reached the north as well—nature is not at its most beautiful. That’s hard to accept. That the nature around me isn’t at its best right now and doesn’t always have to be.
Recently, I’ve had more free time than, for example, in early winter or fall. Either it doesn’t suit me, or I’m too harsh on myself. It feels like I haven’t accomplished "anything." Too much time can make a person unproductive. Or overthink things. I’d vote for the latter.
Spring has previously signified a new beginning for me, new energy, and a new cycle of the year. Now it feels different. The signs of spring are clearly in the air: warm weather, a breeze that already smells of soil and earth, and the first chirps of birds. Yet the snowdrifts still reach above my knee. Small, persistent streams have begun to break through the ice cover, but the river remains firmly in place. Its snowy surface has sagged as if weary from the weight of winter.
The ground is sometimes wet and black, and at night it may freeze or receive a light layer of snow that melts away with the first rays of the sun.
April is said to be the harshest of the northern months. Mornings still bring plenty of frost, but during the day, the sun's warmth can reach over ten degrees on the thermometer.
On some days, the snowpack has provided excellent support for walking. Moving freely through the forest on it allows the mind to rest. I often spend time sitting on the snow-free mounds, which are still icy cold, gathering the sun's warmth within me like a thirsty plant soaking up water in the rain.
There, where the sun has managed to penetrate the snowpack even a little, it can sink mercilessly, no matter how carefully you try to sneak through.
No, those are not the mysterious tracks of a forest animal. Sanna sank into the snow up to her waist.
Here and there, the snow has already given way, and the bare ground is seeing the light for the first time since early November. You can walk along the dry sand on the road while there’s still a snowbank over a meter high beside you. A few days ago, I was skiing on backcountry skis alongside the village road when a child rode by on a bicycle, wearing spring sneakers on the dry road. We both smiled at the absurdity of the situation.
Day by day. Let's rest now so that we'll have the energy to adventure again in the light of the midnight sun during summer. Right now, there are an incredible 15 hours of daylight each day!
Waiting for spring or new snowfall,
♥: Sanna