Juni, Juli, Augusti
Summer-Sweden at its best. Strawberries and talk of heat waves. A glass of terrace chic rosé gazing on the street smart. Train rides and ditch bikes, music festivals and lukewarm cans of beer. Håkan Hellström’s ecstatic shrills as his song echoes in the audience, sending smiling shivers of expectations onto the early morning; “om du vill haaaa mig, nu kan du få mig så lääätt…” Forecasts and radio program presenters, the smell of new rain and lush, breathing greenness all around. A mosquito’s buzz of a fleeing fairytale, smashed blood red on the old summer house’s wallpaper. We should “passa på” they say because “sommaren är kort och det mesta regnar bort”, but this is July. And Sweden has just come alive.
Last year I wrote about having a winter in July. Time seems to fly like birds of passage through our lives.