On the last evening in Sweden in February, my mum came to pick me up at my sister’s and we decided to walk on the ice to Elvis, instead of taking the bridge with loud traffic. Walking on the snowy ice is quite peaceful, almost no one else was there.
There aren’t many old buildings left in Luleå. This is one of few. In the 1960s and 1970s they wanted to make the city modern an tore down a lot of old wooden houses. They STILL do this, unbelievable.
Here’s another one.
On the ice. Airplanes are a rare sight these days.
My dear mum and her ride from the late 1980s. It was nice and cold, we walked home to hers to pick up Thomas and go for pizza.
You know it’s cold when snow looks like this. It’s not until now I realise how exotic it is to know different kinds of snow, the smell of it, the sound of it, the feeling of it. The texture, the taste when the flakes fall on your lips. Frosty eyelashes, red cheeks. Just the aurora missing. We called Johan and he almost cried when hearing the snow creak under our feet. It’s loud and fantastic.