One cold morning, as the sun, fading toward the polar night, barely managed to climb above the treetops, I got an idea.

The river had been frozen for quite some time, but the current keeps the ice near the shore weak. It will be a long time before it's safe to go on the ice, but what about the water?

The day before, I had borrowed fishing waders from a friend who fishes. They were a bit puzzled about why I needed them in the middle of winter, but when I answered with my usual "for a video project," the conversation ended there. I often borrow things from friends and villagers for various video and photography projects, so no one really questions it anymore.

I wanted to get into the water, the cold water. The riverbank is slippery and steep, and it's impossible to carve out a proper ice hole without getting soaked. With the fishing waders on, getting wet wouldn't be a problem, so I pulled on the waterproof rubber pants (with insulated pants underneath), grabbed an axe, and got to work.

The ice was still thin and light, but the soft riverbed and the flowing water posed challenges. The soft bottom sucked my boots into place, and with considerable effort and grunting, I managed to free them so I could move further from the shore. The current kept pushing the ice I had chopped back into place, threatening my balance as I stood on the soft ground.

A pair of ravens circled above, watching my activities and calling to each other with their raspy voices. Perhaps they were questioning my actions, or maybe hoping for an easy lunch. Whatever the case, they eventually flew off empty-beaked, leaving me alone with my ice hole and the last rays of the day's sun.

I took the fishing waders, dripping from their icy bath, to dry in the bathroom, dug out a swimsuit from the back of the summer clothes, and tiptoed barefoot through the soft powder snow in my bathrobe toward the crackling water.

After a few years of winter swimming, the initial shock isn't as bad as it was during those very first times. The body's alarm system still kicks in, though, making the heart race and the lungs gasp for air as if the world were running out of it in those very seconds. But the body remembers this feeling, calms down with long, steady breaths, and focuses on savoring the thrill of the moment, the touch of the cold water, and the golden rays of sunlight.

This is the best way to live in the moment and remember what it feels like to truly be alive.

Here’s a video of my morning activities, where you can hear the clinking of ice and the chopping of the axe, along with the calls of my raven friends.

Wishing you a wonderful winter.

❤︎ Sanna