Wednesday, 13 March 2013

The mountain

After a two minute walk just off the end of our street we reach the end of our island. Surrounded by trees we look over the edge, over the water and onto the city beyond. We spend hours here on what we call 'our mountain', high above the reflecting ice, looking at the view.

Only three days after August was born Rasmus and I took a short walk to our mountain on what was a warm evening. I was in lots of pain so Rasmus gently took my hand and lead me to our mountain clearing. I was reluctant, not wanting to be away from my tiny baby but he was asleep and being gently cared for by our parents. I remember there was a warm, refreshing breeze and I could smell the sweetness of the beginning of summer. The pain faded and my head became clear and light and I thought of the times to come, when the pain had gone for good, how we would be able to take August here and play with him at the bottom of the trees and watch the boats float by below.

Now, when the rocks are slippery with ice and the morning sun shines bright with the sky clear with its perfect blue, I take photos of Rasmus in the trees and on the frozen leaves littering the cold ground. August waits patiently in his stroller, rugged up and warm, his big eyes absorbing the beauty around him and he smiles as he looks, happy to be alive.

As we walk back home with the chill reaching our fingers and toes Rasmus bends down low and points at an ice free patch on the ground. Amongst the leaves are tiny buds, the beginning of flowers like an overture of the nearing spring and my heart grows happy to see the beginnings of life again.

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