Destination: North

It was a beautiful day. Sunny and cold. The train was quietly gliding through the countryside covered in ice and snow. It was hard to watch…the sun was just so strong and the snow so white. Everything was so quiet. Peaceful. Lonesome. Distant. Every now and then we passed a dark red house. Why are they red I remember thinking to myself. But my thoughts were just floating and I stopped paying attention to that question. This bright, lonesome countryside was so peaceful and quiet. The train kept going deeper… into the cold embrace of the Winter. Deep into the North.

“Will I get lucky?” “Will I see it?” “Please, let me see it!” These questions and thoughts just kept popping up in my mind. I just couldn’t stop thinking about it. I pleaded quietly so no one could hear me. “Please let me see it! Please, I’ve come so far. So far up North. Don’t let it be in vain.”

I was looking at this harsh and merciless countryside. Admiring its cold beauty. And I understood. She will always win. She will always be stronger. Natural born winner. The perfect creation of Nature. The Polar Winter. Who always gets her way. Who shows her beauty. Or hides it. With such nonchalant manner. She doesn’t care. She knows them.

I had to trust in destiny. Luck. Her benevolence. That everything will happen exactly as it should. That she will grace my with this gift. And let me see it. In all its glory. In all its beauty. That she will clear the skies and chase away the clouds. And let me see it. The Dance of the Gods. The Stairway to Heaven. The mighty Aurora Borealis. The magical Northern Lights.

The train was quietly gliding through the countryside. I couldn’t watch anymore. The sun was to bright, the snow was too white. “Let me see it. Please, let me see it!” And the train just kept going. Up, North. Deep into the cold embrace of the Winter.

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Venice of the North

I confess. I couldn’t start writing about Stockholm. I just couldn’t. Not that there was anything wrong with him. It’s beautiful. In its cold, Scandinavian manner. Venice of the North.

When I think about Stockholm, I remember that it was a beautiful and cold day. That the sky was clear and pure. Nice little streets, warm and cozy cafes and restaurants. How I thought to myself how quiet Stockholm was. Trapped in the cold embrace of the winter, that was slowly moving away and making space for the spring. How everything was in its place. And that they say that the most handsome men live in Stockholm. Honestly, I really don’t know. Could be.

It wasn’t the right time for us. Stockholm and me. We didn’t leave a trace in one another. But there are memories, that always make me smile. Chasing giant soap bubbles on the streets of Stockholm. A warm scarf that comes handy in the north. Because the winters at home are too warm. The beautiful shapes of ice in the lake. A church that serves warm coffee. And a sudden thought that crossed my mind. How beautiful spring mornings and autumn afternoons must be. Here, in the Venice of the North.

Deep down I knew why I couldn’t write about him. Because he didn’t leave a trace. Because for me there is only one Venice. That I keep coming back to them. Maybe one day I will go back. To the city on the water. To check if this time, the timing will be right for us. Maybe one day. Up there, far in the North, there is something that keeps pulling me back. That still captivates my imagination. The magic of the northern lights. Aurora borealis. Maybe one day.

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