Red Day, Winter Tracks, and Writing

We have the day off today because it's a public holiday, and the morning began in that peaceful way that only winter days can offer. Minus seven degrees outside, clear air and a silence that feels almost soft.

We took a morning walk with Zelda, dressed warmly and with our breath visible in the air. Zelda loves the snow. There's no doubt about that. She bounces along, sniffing deeply at the ground, stopping to investigate every scent, and then rushing on as if the world is new every time.

It's fun to watch. That pure joy is contagious and makes the cold feel less severe.

Along the walk, we found tracks. Small, clear prints from deer—and larger, heavier tracks from the moose that live around here. There's something special about seeing things like that. A reminder that we share this place with other lives, which move here every day, regardless of our schedules and plans.

We stopped several times, looked around, talked a little, and just took in our surroundings. The walk wasn't long or remarkable in any way. But it was just right. A moment outside together, in the middle of the day, without any rush.

I'm posting a few pictures from the walk below. Those kinds of moments that don't really need many words.

Now we're back home. The cold has let go, the coffee is refilled, and the afternoon will be spent in front of the computer. It's time to focus on writing.

I'm sitting here editing the last bits of Grannen Mittemot, the Swedish version og Hallway Sparks. Those final adjustments that require both patience and presence.

Reading slowly, feeling, weighing phrases, and letting the text settle where it should.

It feels good to be able to do that today. In peace and quiet, without time pressure. As if the winter air of the morning made room inside as well.

A red day. A quiet start. And an afternoon filled with words.