Chilly rain, lots of work, hair pulled away from the face.
A taste for sugar, tired mornings, trying to get back on track.
A motorcycle ride, Matisse and Gauguin, a yard sale with cupcakes.
And a coat in the exact shade between silver and gold, twirling around me like a superhero cape.
Reveling in summer heat by the glittering sea, sun and salt and blue nailpolish on my bare toes, as my mother naps in the cottage nearby.
Blueberries, strawberries, raspberries with cream and sugar, dark coffee in old mugs, singing "Happy Birthday" and meaning it.
Lighting a candle and watching a film, wrapped in a wool blanket older than me, while the rain pounds on the roof.
Falling asleep in the white nights of June or the pitch-black nights of August, in the peaceful silence of the forest.
Making banana pancakes while kitchen windows steam up from the heat of the frying pan, the smell of fruit and vanilla filling the air.
Making the same lame jokes as we've done for years, around a red table as twilight falls and the dog is trying to sleep.
Staring out to sea and the silhouette of the islands, knowing they are always there for me, holding on to my happy memories and my melancholia.
Walking along a tiny forest road, feeling the weight of the mystery, feeling the peace.
I had that dream again. The one where I go back to work in the Magic Valley, which I sometimes, but not very seriously, daydream about doing. It's almost twenty years since I left now.
The dream is always filled with people, sometimes a few well-known faces but often strangers. I'm usually running around trying to perform a lot of tasks in the lounge/bar and the kitchen, only occasionally going back to my real workplace behind the reception desk.
Sometimes the important people are there as well, the ones I long for and never will see again.
Laptop on my lap, rain at my elbow, smudged mascara from last night, woollen socks, a glass of wine on the porch.
Last night, friends who arrived on a swarm of motorcycles: the blonde who quickly jumped off to hug me, the unsmiling physician, the nerdy one with the best jokes, the introvert who walks off in silence, the one who's learning a new life, someone's new girlfriend who seemed superhuman but really nice too, and a small boy who splashed in the water and giggled infectiously.
Tacos in the evening sun by the sea. At twilight, volleyball and joy.
Road trip formula: three hours north, then three hours east.
Raahe with sleepy streets, part of a hardrock concert (we're not hardrock people) and the longest wall in Finland.
Kalajoki with endless sand dunes and wine on a picnic blanket while watching beachvolley. A night in an 18th-century house, breakfast in a cosy kitchen with rain outside, discussing life choices, wind power and whether everything that connects people is good, with a German stranger. ("Even radicalism? How about sharing a bottle of wine tonight?")
Kajaani with grey streets, a good cup of coffee, Eino Leino and a charming little castle with a bridge running straight across it.
Iisalmi with an exotic Russian hotel (breakfast in the company of saints), a stormy lake, an art exhibition in Europe's longest birch alley and a typical Finnish pub night with beer.
And the rest: winding roads through forests and fields and flowers, Kekkonen's little cottage, singing hymns in the car, a hot sun, many sweets. The only thing we argued about was carbohydrates.
I came home with a white lace skirt and sand in my car.