wet sneakers by the fire

I walk through wet grass in my father's wellingtons and remind myself of the names of flowers. I fetch wood from the shed. I watch My Blueberry Nights on a tiny laptop, the best film I've seen in months. I dry my wet sneakers in front of a roaring fire and read books. I eat cold pizza with instant coffee. I argue with my mother. I walk along a dirt road in the forest and kick pebbles for the dog to chase. I try to stay off social media. I read magazines in foreign languages and dream.

The sky is grey, night and day – no darkness at night, no sun at noon – and I often hear the whoosh of rain on the tin roof. A hooting owl lets me know that it's time to sleep. This is also a Finnish summer.