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