Denmark in deep winter means some ice and snow. But not much. And some light. But not as little as in Finland. On the first of February the light was blue and on its way out by the time I arrived. On that day I thought this would be my last visit and I took two photos, to remember. I sat in silence for a long time, pondering over how unpredictable and out of control life is, and how all we can do is try to hang on from the edge and insist that we have some sort of assertiveness over where we go. Because if we don’t try to assert control we do not assert ownership of our actions. A pond is a good place for pondering.
One month later, as I write this, I am still in Brande. There is sunshine in the air. The fish no longer need to survive on oxygen stored in the water under the ice, and I have regained the illusion that I do have control of most of what I do and choose. And I am thinking of the wise Pema Chödrön’s words: “You are the sky. Everything else – it’s just the weather.”
(Brande, Denmark; February and March, 2019)
Snow in Turin. We are not even on high altitude and yet this place in Italy is as cold as up North in Denmark. 
(Turin, Italy; January 2019)
Good morning, Turin. And what a cold and bitter morning it is. Even the rooftop pigeons are nowhere to be seen. Come to think of it, how come we only see pigeons when the temperature is relatively warm? Where do the thousands of pigeons living in any major European city go to on cold winter days? They must have places to warm up of which we know nothing. They must have secrets.
This was my first visit to Milan without visiting the 
I took this picture so I could complain about the uniformity and lack of identity of business hotels. But now I think such a complaint would sound obnoxious, privileged, and humble-bragging about my supposedly “glitzy” working life. Yes it entails lots of sleek hotels in exciting cities. Yes it entails lots of flying and yes I have two airline elite tier membership cards.
Spotted in the bathroom of the country cottage. Apparently August Strindberg can bore one to death. How the poor thing got into the bathroom and how we did not notice it, living or dead, until now is a mystery. I am so dreadfully sorry little vole, for not letting you back out in time.
I am working from the cottage this week, surrounded by snow. There is no wi-fi but the invention of an iPhone hotspot can do wonders for work-life balance if one lets it. Everything but video conferencing works, and who needs video conferencing anyway when snuggling up behind the laptop in woollen socks and a thick homely sweater? Output quality trumps appearance and sense of style in my job.
The low, early January sun found its way in through the dining room window just so. It hit the crystal chandelier and exploded into hundreds of little rainbows, all over the walls and the ceiling and the fireplace. For a long while the dining room became a crystal palace.
(Loviisa, Finland; January 2019)
While the polar vortex spun around northern North America, snow settled in Europe, including Finland. These photos are from late December and a week ago, in early February, my mother described that the heaps of snow blowing against the house now reach half-way up the wall. Imagine that. I am trying. 
(Helsinki, Finland; December 2018)
That little house in the great woods is actually a sauna. Traditionally, a sauna has always been a separate building, standing apart from the main house. Possibly due to the risk of fire. Saunas used to burn down from time to time.
This blue marble 