Casa Robino

Nosslinge, Sweden taken by AniaThe sky was high in the sky now, it was hot under the trees, it smelt hot, and from everywhere in the forest around us there were sounds: of beating wings, of branches bending and twigs breaking, and the scream of a hawk and a hare's last sigh, and the tiny muffled boom each time a bee hit a flower. I heard the ants crawling in the heather, and the path we followed rose with the hillside; I took deep breaths through my nose and thought that no matter how life should turn out and however far I travelled I would always remember this place as it was just now, and miss it. -from Out Stealing Horses by Per PettersonIt was the last half mile. My legs were tingling like I would imagine fireflies inside me to feel. It had been a long day. This was the time I always felt most powerful, most full and content. All restlessness quietens. The sun was slowly dripping down the sky and the mosquitoes were about to appear. But here they didn't bother me; not like in Québec, anyhow. My blood wasn't for them. Not now. Filled with the scent of pines, by the lake, sleepy songs by birds. My breaths coming out of me with a whoosh. The wheels had been burning hard on the road, I always found it hard to slow down in times like this, I needed my body taunt and heart beating out of my skin.I gazed on down the road. She was gliding along, immersed in her own world as ever. I saw her and a great hand of tenderness pulled at my chest. Nesting. She was restless in these times, unable to be still or calm, without focus. I'd never known her to be like this and in a way it scared me. From her, I always took solitude and the quiet search beyond my recklessness, beyond my foolish confusions.A yodelling sound came from my throat and surprised me. Often these sounds come in happiness. Words can't form truthfully in these moments. A man inside the cemetery gazes at me in bemusement. I hope he wasn't praying, that I hadn't broken something. The teens out on the other side of the lake stopped too, I could tell, for their voices dropped. All sounds carry across the lake as if just some metres away. I smile and shrug to no one.I cycled back to her. A smile filled me as I approached her. I wanted to hug her but didn't. She stood taking photos of the sunset. It broke me open. For a long time we stood watching it. A couple of other cyclists passed us, breathing their greetings. 'It means that no matter how alone you may feel; there is somewhere in the world, beyond all that is ugly and gnaws and tears at you...that exists, that pulsates through your worst nights, the worst of your blues...I think...this is one of those places for me...'She says nothing, but knows. We cycle on back to the cabin, bags full of biscuits and fruit. This is all you could possibly need, in this time.