That was the summer

1 September and this strange summer is drawing to a close. For me the most intensively Swedish summer ever, leaving me better informed about my surroundings and reducing my exile-related feelings of dislocation and not belonging. At the same time, a feeling of being cheated, that the summer with its peculiarities doesn’t quite count, that it wasn’t enough to compensate for the cold and dark to come.  But we have to accept that too and find satisfaction in playing a bad hand well, aware that there is no guarantee that tomorrow will be like today and that the only reasonable expectation is the unexpected.

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