stirring the air

I have  not been cold  in five weeks.

That must be some kind of record on this west coast of the North. Where even in the heat of high summer there is usually the occasional chilly evening that makes you sweep wool around your shoulder after an evening swim, or a surprisingly cool breeze from open sea.

But I, the queen of shivering, walk around in eternally bare feet. I cannot remember what wool feels like next to the skin. I sit in the shade, wear as little as possible and take cold showers when I'm too far away from a beach. I gasp for air or bask in the summer heat. I look up recipes for ice tea when a hot cuppa is unbearable.

I discard the duvet and throw the door wide open to the night air. I turn the air conditioning to full blast in the car, while the tiny fan in my flat is of no use at all. I pin the letter slot in my front door open in a desperate attempt to create a cool draft. I drink gallons of water even when it tastes funny. I sit outside for hours in the white nights of the North.

I am tanned, wild-haired, sweating rivers and - weirdly enough - feeling sexy.

Finland and the Finns are throwing off their coldness and just loving life for a while.