Sometimes I think the Swedes just invented the word ‘vårvinter’ (spring-winter) to make it look like it’s not winter for about half a year. We’ve been celebrating spring with April bonfires surrounded by the last stubborn pieces of snow, and we’ve been surprised by snow and hail torpeding down my pretty pink tulips in May.
I might see pictures of beautiful blossoms and beach trips from friends in different parts of the world, while all I spot outside my window is a black and white world that feels like it will be there forever.

However much I love winter, and despite never being ready for the seasons to change, after all these years up north, ‘vårvinter’ started to make sense. It starts with small things. You notice the light reaching a wall that it didn’t before, the days are just slightly elongating, the sun gets brighter, and when you expect it the least, you can feel some warmth too.
There is so much change, all while the landscape remains quiet and frozen.

Then one day you’ll hear the calls of the feathered travelers arriving from the south.
For me, that sounds marks the change.
The end of winter.

Last week, I heard the first calls from a couple of Whooping swans.
And I know the cranes are on their way too.