By train

I’ve always loved traveling by train. My grandfather drove them, my father shared his fascination. Riding one was always a great way to reflect over past and present. Pencil and paper. On a train somewhere on the Swedish countryside.

In the very south, neatly arranged trees mark open fields and provide shade and cover from rain.

In the north winter blankets most fields, a hug that is both warm and cold at the same time. Leaving little option but patience.

Lonely birches, drifting across and out of view.

People ice fishing.

Collections of timber houses built by families over hundreds of years.

Scattered barns deserted by young, less interested in their parents labor.

Tall legged trees huddle high above the snow. Trunks thin as a stroke.

A pine and a shed thawing before summer.

Places that keep me wondering where we have been and where we are. Places I’ll probably always consider home.