Morning Frost on the Finnish Bog

A Cold Morning Among Cranberries and Stillness

Today we made a morning walk in the cold, frosty bog, where the cranberries were frozen and the bog moss felt crisp underfoot. The air felt sharp, and our minds were still partly in dreams.

My son found a feather of a common crane (Grus grus) — we have been following their moves all summer, but now they have hidden away from us. Perhaps they have already flown south.

The sun was still behind the trees, but slowly it started to melt the nature around us. The ice turned into water droplets. Our fingers weren’t so frozen anymore. Our berry basket began to fill with cranberries, and the slight scent of labrador tea grew stronger, still fainter than in summer.

Except for our voices, the bog was completely silent. Time seemed to have stopped. That feeling cannot be fully described in words — it is something to be felt with your own senses, a quiet pulse of the bog that lingers long after you leave. A stillness that follows you home.