I like rocks. The large, mossy kind you find scattered all over Finland, granite or gneiss ones. I love walking with bare feet on course, sunwarmed rock or boulders covered in cool, velvety moss with tiny flowers in it. I love smooth, wave-kissed rocks sloping down to the sea.
Rocks were my passion as a kid. The kind of rocks you could climb on and crawl under, and create little nests between. I created of them entire fantasy worlds where I lived in a wilderness with wild animals and fairytale people all around, a bit like my hero Robin Hood. My mother had large flower beds in our garden and forbade me to walk in them, but there were smaller rocks scattered there so I jumped from rock to rock in exhilaration.
As a moody teenager, I walked into the woods on summer nights and climbed up on the largest boulder I could find, then sat there for ages brooding about my teenage troubles and dreams.
As an adult I often take a pretty pebble home with me from the beaches of the world, my one and only souvenir.
Perhaps it is no coincidence that my name means 'rock'.
"When my heart is overwhelmed, lead me to the rock that is higher than I" (Psalm 61).
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