Blue Sky Dreaming

On the nurturing power of a blue sky

Nåtö on a sunny day | photo by author

Blue skies have been a rarity lately. The heavy, grey blanket of cloud so often present in winter here has seemed like an extra-heavy burden this year. The lack of snow makes the landscape dull, such a contrast to its glittering beauty in summer.

What to do?

Finns are prepared for this. They’ve endured winter after winter, comparing stories of ‘that time it was so cold you could walk to the mainland on the ice’ or ‘the winter it was minus 20 (Celsius) for months'.’ For me, a child of southern climes, winters here seem to stretch out for more than half the year (and probably for most Finns too but they stoically get on with it - muttering about the rubbish weather under their breath as they navigate the ice and darkness).

I tell myself it’s only three months, but the never-ending grey skies are tricky. I realise how I took for granted the big, blue winter skies I often experienced in Australia. Where winter seemingly lasts six weeks.

Of course, winter there is longer, but compared to the heavy, cloud-filled, dull winter here, it certainly seems short. That I squandered the blue skies of home seems extravagant now, as I peer into the late morning dullness, looking for gaps in the blanket above.

What to do?

Candles stave off the dullness and darkness—lamps give a warm, cosy glow. I use long, Finnish matches, trying only one match to light the seven or eight little tea lights I have in the lounge room. Fairy lights emit their twinkly, sparkly glow, strung up around window frames and over the piano and cupboard.

Apparently, you should have five different light sources in a room. But I’ve removed ‘should’ from my vocabulary lately (maybe because I’m approaching the decade of giving fewer shits about shoulds). I’ll have as many as I please, thank you very much. As long as it gives a warm glow and staves off the grey and dark.

What to do?

Less doing, more being. That’s what I’ve come to realise. Finally seeing blue skies and sun last week was a delicious moment! A day to be savoured! What luck to be at the childcare centre where I work sometimes—to revel in the open skies as I push little ones on the swing, singing songs in English because I don’t know any in Swedish.

A plane flies overhead, high up, leaving long streaks on the blue sky canvas, the world so still you can hear it. Sunlight twinkles through the trees, rising just up over the horizon at 10 am. A bird chirps a pretty melody in the trees behind us, and even the children quiet down to listen.

Magical!

I finish work and it’s still light, a bonus of starting in the early darkness. The drive home takes me on a meandering path over flat bridges connecting islands. I remind myself that not too long ago you could only get here by boat - roads are a luxury here that most now take for granted, me included.

Photos of Nåtö as I capture hope with my camera

I can’t stop to photograph where I want to because the road bridges are narrow and it’s too dangerous to stop but there’s a small car park where I pull in to capture the sky, the water, the moment of light.

The crisp blue, the twinkling sun is a balm. A light point in many grey weeks. It nurtures hope. Fills me with joy.

I’ll enjoy the photos, as the grey blanket returns, forecast for at least the next 10 days anyway. I document these days, my phone filled with too many photos of stretches of blue sky in all weather. They’re a reminder on the grey days, that this too shall pass.

Stay Well

Lisa x

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I’m reading:

Wintering: the power of rest and retreat in difficult times by Katherine May - what an absolutely stunning book! I am happily absorbing her wonderful words on the power of embracing stillness and retreat. Definitely worth reading.

I’m writing:

Pull damp grey clouds
across the sky
Wrap yourself in
their moist comfort.
Loss, hard to bear,
hurts your heart.
Even in new-found happiness,
loss can be piercing.
Take comfort in
damp greyness,
Make it your friend
to ease your loss.

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