The heat wave is over; a cold wind blows from northeast bringing a chilly mist from the Arctic Sea, perhaps even rain later tonight. It is hard to remember what it felt like to sit on the rock on the shore last night with the sun burning hot in my neck. Now, sitting on the same rock, I am shivering in the wind. The changes in the landscape during these few days have been swift. The birches are now green, since yesterday, and the ice on the lake has turned dark and damp today. The sky has been mainly grey today, no spectacular midnight sun tonight. Of course not, since I decided this Saturday-Sunday would be the right time to record a full day and a night from noon to noon. After the initial disappointment and dread of possible rain around midnight I realised the good sides to this boring greyness; the clouds cover the sun during those hours when it would be facing the camera, possibly blinding it. And there is the satisfaction of knowing that I did not bring my winter coat with me in vain. The temperature is estimated to sink down to + 4 degrees Celsius tomorrow morning. That is fine with me, as long as there is no heavy rain, which the camera would not like. While writing this, I am almost half-way through with one hour left until midnight. The light outside at the moment is like a winter afternoon. The clouds probably spread out the light in more evenly, and one cannot see the sun slowly sliding behind Saana.
Spring-cleaning was the prompt I received for today, which is a suitably exhausting activity comparable with staying up for 24 hours, despite short naps between the night sessions. While waiting for the next session – I go down to the shore every two hours – I have been cleaning my website, removing typos and minor errors, a spring-cleaning of sorts, too. The images here below are from earlier today, before the mist started pouring in from Norway, between Malla and Saana Fell. The wind makes my scarf flap while sitting on the rock, which is an unnecessary distraction in the image, but then again, documentation means documenting what happens, not what you would prefer taking place.
Why is it that the images I take as snapshots, without planning, always seem so much more interesting than the ones I deliberately prepare with a proper camera? Like these, taken in amazement when the ice suddenly began disappearing with an astonishing speed.
