Sweden in April. Scandinavia in april. Out in the woods, in a little cottage, en röd stuga as the swedes call it. Waking up early. The sound of a sleeping house, a dog barking, muted, on the next farm and a few optimistic birds chirping is the only contentum. I add to the noise when I put on the coffee-machine. The smell of coffee will soon wake the others, still sleeping above. As I bring the coffee and some chocolate, a morning ritual for me, out on the porch, I see the mist hovering over the fields. Lighter and lighter for every minute until it suddenly is vaporized. …