The cold June wind from the north
rushes through the farm's sturdy pines,
pulling at their lofty crowns

Something is changing
all the time

Anna on the motorway
towards Sunderbyn

Gunwald the Cat running
close to the ground
around the expansive territory

The horses
in a tight group by the stable wall,
restless in the gusts

Hans Åke's voice clearer
now that he's dead

In a recent dream
he and I went out
at one AM
to see something,
but I lost sight of him;
arrived at a desolate turning point
in the heavy snowfall