​I’ve got the late summer blues. I feel so melancholy to see the gradual end of summer. To see the light go. All my dreams for easy living. The fruits of a whole winter of longing. If it were March, I'd be delighted that it wasn’t until half past nine in the evening that it was getting dark. But it's August, and turning darker.

What happened? Did summer rain away? Is my memory faulty or skewed to remembering long days of work and lousy weather? Was I just not able to seize all those moments?

Wait a minute.... one of the things I love about living in Sweden is the intense difference between the seasons... The longing, the awareness, the heightened senses, the early summer fever, the winter sunsets that go on for hours and hours, the sound of snow crunching under my feet, the rich and ever-changing palette of autumn leaves. The exceptional sense of change and being in the present, and perhaps that is it, a sadness that I wasn’t quite in the present this summer...

Besides, I love rain!

Can there be layers of truth? Or layers of perception? Layers of memories?

Because in many ways this has been an astonishing summer! And still, this late summer blues...

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