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  • march

    I think March is one of my favorite months here in Tromsø. It's often beautiful outside, and definitely still winter, but by the time we reach March we're practically dashing towards the equinox, in the middle of the few magical months where daylight and darkness are so in balance this far north. And when there's still so much snow, the daylight can have special qualities.

    On a sunny day, it can be positively blinding. But yesterday the light was stranger, moodier. A change in the weather was beginning as we moved into a week of unusually mild, above-freezing days. The clouds hung in the sky like a heavy curtain of gauze, not blocking out the sun, but turning the world around me into one big softbox. The mountains to the south looked flat, like two-dimensional block prints across the horizon in light and dark grey.

    It was, I have to admit, one of my favorite kinds of days for walking. To revel in the bright whiteness of untouched snow without being blinded by it - but at the same time getting to see depth in the sky, and knowing where the sun is too. Since I knew that the weather would be changing this week, yesterday felt like my one chance to get that kind of walk in before it all turns sloshy. The city streets quickly turn into the world's northernmost Slurpee. (That bit is not one of my favorite parts about living here.)

    In the midst of longer work days, trying to squeeze in some extra transcription for my thesis project which is now due in just two months (eek!), it was so nice to set aside a little bit of time for a long walk. Despite the shifting weather, it was very calm and quiet yesterday. I stood at the southern end of the island, and when you are standing at that point staring out across the strait at the mountains beyond, it is so easy to remember to breathe in big, and to breathe out slowly. In, and out. The slow, calming rhythm is encouraged by the gentle waves lapping at the rocks on the beach. 

    I'm sharing these photos so that I can soak up this late winter landscape - and I can't help but notice it's full of all of the colors and nuances that drew me to the sock yarn I bought in Montréal (mentioned in this post), which I've enjoyed knitting with immensely. Sometimes people ask about how my environment influences my knitwear design work, and there are several ways to answer that question - but it's always clear to me that the lanscape seeps into whatever it is I'm making through colors first and foremost. And aren't these lovely colors to see outside your window?