oddly carrying a book

I like walking through town on a winter's night, late, when cars are parked messily because of the piles of snow everywhere and the sidewalk is only a winding path through thick snowdrifts. When all sounds are muted and there is that odd, cold smell of ice, the smell that must have come all across space from the other end of the galaxy. When streetlights illuminate a deserted world. When I'm covered in layers of clothing that hamper my movements and I constantly have to tug my hat further down over my unruly hair to cover freezing ears.

Even better, then, if I in my mitten-covered hand carry a book. I like the feeling of a book in my hand. I like the idea of reading books, sometimes even more than actually reading. Preferably I should be on my way home from a book club, with my head filled with profound thoughts awakened by books and book lovers. I like the feeling of being odd, carrying a real book around - I'm an anachronism and should be dressed in tweed and smoking a pipe. I like the possibility of a stranger looking at me and thinking, "There's another one! I thought I was the only one who still reads."

silk shirts in snow

November is a cemetery full of candles for the dead, one of them mine. A cold mist of weariness, stifling dreams. A creative flow slowing into a muddy, fetid pool. Snow turning to rain, dancing to backache.

It is also a warm bed, peppermint tea and fantasy novels to carry you off into worlds of spices and love. 

It is a burst of fighting spirit, hiking boots and silk shirts.

trams, haunted castles, the world

I travelled through most of Helsinki by tram last weekend. That was a good weekend.

Add to that a good friend, a murder mystery comedy play at the theatre, a cute café on a cold day, large bookstores, people-watching and world-watching and the kind of deliciously outerworldly clothes you only find in big cities. And a glass of wine in a haunted castle, bent over a book on local architecture.

The last time I was in Helsinki was just before the pandemic hit. I spent those days elbowing my way through dense crowds of people, all crammed together to enjoy a light show festival. Today nobody would even think of getting close enough to a stranger to breathe in their personal space. The city seemed a little more subdued. But eager to rise again.

I wore a face mask, and sometimes forgot it. That's the in-between time we live in right now. And I realised how much I have missed travelling, trams, the theatre, haunted castles, the world.