Summer in Winterland

It’s June, and there are signs of summer. The trees are dressed in green leaves. I have cut the grass once already.

Last Sunday, we had a nice and warm day. Little boy and I biked to town in shorts and T-shirt to buy ice cream.

Yesterday it was snowing.

Today I’m wearing wool socks.

It’s summer in Winterland.

Summer in the north doesn’t mean it’s warm. It just means it’s light all the time.

The light summers are addictive (and the dark winters too). When you’re used to living in the north, you won’t consider living anywhere else, at least not for a long time.

The nature of the north is like a chubby woman, shaved by the cold and harsh winters, and then in the spring her fur grows back, just as it should, just where it should, leaving the highest mountains bare >:)

 (I took the picture above on a late summer night about a year ago, when I walked across the old town bridge on the way back home from a late night in town.)