It’s the very end of 2025 and I am halfway through my 65th lap around the sun, orbiting the center of the Milky Way at around 800 000 km/h. It’s the quiet days between the Christmas hysteria and the New Year frenzy, at least on this patch of the planet.
No sign of winter som far. We’ve been wrapped in a thick, grey cloud blanket that’s kept the damp and the cold in, and kept the light out. Not a real cold, not the crisp, sharp cold that bites your cheeks that you get when the skies are clear and the temperature dips well below zero. No, this is another kind of cold, an aching chill that seeps right into your marrow and freezes you from the inside out. Together with the lack of daylight it dulls your brain and turns you into a virtual zombie. They say that this is the result of a warming climate and that it will probably get worse, meaning less red cheeks and more marrow-deep chill. As a species we have chosen to ignore them (those who know, and keep telling us) and instead we carry on like there is no tomorrow, so I guess it’s just a matter of adapting.
In Swedish we call these days the “in-between days”, the days between one frenzy and another; between the pagan winter solstice ritual – which turned into a Christian celebration of the birth of the saviour, which turned into shopping psychosis (and a measure of the well-being of the Market, the aggregation of the productivity of all mankind) – and the celebration of the start of the new year according to the calendar introduced by Pope Gregorius the thirteenth in 1582. We love our traditions, they give us a sense of security and order in chaotic times in a fucked-up world.
To escape the barrage of crackers and fireworks, originally intended as a short burst at midnight on the 31st of December to mark the transition from the past year to the next, we escape to the peace and quiet of our cottage on the island of Orust. Cooper is petrified by the crackers and fireworks. At first he barks hysterically at them but then he is paralysed and just sits there, shaking uncontrollably. There will undoubtably be some in the distance, but out here he will cope.
At the summer house on Orust we can light a fire and snuggle up infront of a film in the dark winter night and dream ourselves elsewhere for a moment. In the daytime I take Cooper for a long walk along the forest roads. I let him run loose, off the leash, and he darts in and out amongst the trees picking up the scent of the local wildlife but never actually catching up with anything. I have treats in my pocket and I give them generously every time he returns to me so he knows that it’s more of a sure thing than catching an elk.
The thick clouds disperse for a moment and the sun appears, creeping low above the southern horizon. The shadows are long and the suns rays don’t warm but the blinding light clears the head and restores the lust for life, at least for a moment.
The first quarter of the 21st century is drawing to a close. The world is rife with despots and tyrants, and we appear to be failing to do the things we need to do to ensure a decent future for our children, and their children. Well, the new year is for fresh starts and renewed hope – let’s put out failures behind us and get to work!
