When the Water is a Mirror

Reflections on a journey through an archipelago

The sky looks almost painted in this photo - I promise I didn’t use a filter

I look out at the magical watery scape before me. A small rocky island, all pink granite and brown and white lichen, has one little bare bush on it. At barely twenty metres wide, it’s one of the thousands of islands making up this beautiful archipelago.

Seagulls bob around it. They’ve come back. They’ll slowly build in numbers as they fly here from wherever they’ve been during the winter. Their feathers must be wonderful insulation because the ice has only just disappeared, breaking apart in days, melting away as the temperatures rise to plus degrees and double digits.

We pass more islands. Bushes in muted browns with a purple tinge cling to the centre, the rocky base having collected enough soil for seeds to take root and grow. Deciduous trees - birch probably - wait for the temperatures to rise enough for their surgery sap to feed the buds which will soon become leaves. Only a few weeks of waiting and they’ll explode into the new, light green colour that’s so lovely here.

The water’s surface shimmers, changing texture and colour as the breeze kisses it. The sky is a muted grey-blue. A thin veil of cloud covers the blue making the whole world blue-grey. The thin strip of land on the horizon is the only evidence that we’re not floating in space. I want to reach out and touch the horizon with outstretched arms. I’m coatless today. The first time in a very long time. Months anyway.

Water and horizon meet at a sliver of land

Travelling through the archipelago by boat is a magical experience. The whole southwest coast of Finland is broken into islands way out into the Baltic Sea, forming the archipelago I now call home. There’s a calmness to this area. The sea can whip up into waves with white peaks but not quite like what I’ve seen and experienced in Australia. I love the slow, soft days when the water is a mirror.

I need the calmness today. Sometimes juggling multiple jobs, and negotiating with different people in different workplaces takes its toll. The still water and the slow steady whirring of the ferry forces you to slow down. Of course, I can still write. I’m grateful every day for the technology that allows us to connect. But I like to do it on my terms.

We glide through the water, making waves that the islands behind us feel

The ferry’s seemingly calm journey hides the fact that its wake leaves waves behind it. I stand out on the deck watching a small boat toss up and down, the waves continuing, breaking over a small, low rock island. We glide through the water oblivious of the waves we make behind us. A metaphor for life? Perhaps. I’d like to think that many of us are more intentional—that we care more about what we leave behind us, what we put out there in the world.

I hope so anyway.

It’s always worth hoping for better. That we will treat each other with kindness. That we think about the waves we make.

We continue our calm journey through the smattering of islands. Thousands of islands - more than a smattering really. I drink in the calm, holding it in my body, savouring it for when I need calm again.

Stay Well,

Lisa x

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I’m Reading

This lovely piece of writing:

Tend the light

A gorgeous book called The Braid by Laetitia Colombani weaves the stories of three women scattered across the globe, showing us that there is much that unites us.