It is a golden late September day; last night I smelled for the first time this year the distant savour of frost. It is still far away in Norrland, but heading steadily southwards following the flight of the swallows and before it pushing nights of jewel-bright sharpness and days of astonishing radiance. On those days, the sky is a dazzling blue in contrast to the soft, almost mysterious gold yellows and flame reds of the leaves and the grass is still green, a green that is deeper now than at any other time of the year. I am still not used to the reversal of the seasonal colour schemes here in the northern hemisphere. Here it is spring that has frail, yellow hues and summer is full of a dusty density. I suppose I'll get used to it.

It is so quiet in the forest at this time of the year. Not silent, but instead a gentle rustly quiet, except when the wind blows. The trees make noise in the wind, like the rustling of paper, and when the leaves move the birds move with them; crows and doves and gulls taking flight, spreading their wings against the sky.



The last few days have been shrouded in mist and fog and it has been strange to walk along and sense the shapes ahead, then see them emerge as people, trees, cars - even the morning train came gliding out of the silvery veil of mist in a surreal sort atmosphere of mystery reminiscent of Dr Zhivago or Oriental Express. The mist really does give the scene a special charm. But it is the leaves that I really love. The dark yellows come first followed by the reds, then the browns and oranges and soon the trees will look like a forest fire, with all those burning colours set against the greyish morning skies of October.



I really love this time of the year and I rejoice in the new season. I feel energised and more alive in autumn. We have been occupied this week with making plans for trips to galleries and markets, seeing friends, visiting family and socialising. It is a busy time for both of us, but at the same time it's wonderful to feel a desire to get things done, to start new projects and complete old ones, to write, create, and just live.

But I still continue to put my foot in it with the Swedish language, causing my husband a lot of laughter and a wealth of teasing material. You would think that I had learned my lesson with the whole fish episode earlier this year, wouldn't you? But obviously I'm a glutton for punishment.

This time I was lazing in bed early in the morning, waiting for the weather report. Here, the radio weather is before the 6.00am news, so the radio was on a little early and a woman was rabbitting on about a play that is opening in Stockholm shortly. I was not really listening as I was reading a book at the time, just waiting for the magic words väder rapport. So, in my barely awake brain, I swore that she said that the play was about "a tiger that came to Stockholm and he didn't have enough money to buy a hamburger". All this is in Swedish, by the way. I know, I know - I should have kept my mouth shut, consulted my Swedish/English dictionary while I made breakfast and saved myself a lot of humiliation, but I was still not fully conscious. So, I turned to Lars-Göran and said, Did she really say that a tiger didn't have the money to buy a hamburger in Stockholm?

*sigh*

When he finished laughing, he told me that tiggare meant beggar, as distinct from tiger, (which in my defense is pronounced "tigger") means tiger. And he is still getting far too much mileage from that slip-up.

Damn. I hate not having the upper hand.