Of the four season of the year I have to choose from, I'd have to say that since I've been in Sweden, autumn would be my favourite time of the year. Some would argue that the whole season is one of slow descent into winter, complete with the slow decline of temperatures until it reaches the near zero level, which will stick around for a few weeks. It also is a time of seemingly overcast and rainy days, with a few November windstorms. That is all true to a degree, but Autumn in Sweden does have its advantages as well, the main one being the vibrant and changing colours of the leaves on the trees.




That picture was taken a month ago from my kitchen window and you have to admit that there are worse things I could be overlooking as I prepare our meals. As autumn progresses, the leaves become sparse, blown into piles by the frequent gales and all too soon, we descend into the gloom that I associate with November here. Though I do have to say that this November has been considerably better and brighter than I've experienced before. I'm not sure whether the milder, wetter summer had anything to do with it, but there were many trees out there which hadn't got the memo about the whole autumn thing. They stood there happily as green and leafy as ever, with just the slightest hints of colour here and there. Of course the season eventually caught up to them, but they took their own sweet time with the whole thing. I swear they are taking lessons from that lazy dog of mine.




The picture above was taken earlier this week. And what a contrast to October! This is still something that surprises me every year. Having grown up in the relative warmth of South Australia, we did not experience these sharp contrasts at all. Summer sort of drifted into autumn about a week before the mild winter and before you knew it, it was summer again. Here, the seasonal differences are very marked and each season has its charms.

What often makes November bearable is that we do get bouts of snow - an early foretaste of the coming winter. And early this week, mother nature obliged with a gentle powdering of snow. Enough to break the gloom and soften the landscape and cheer up that kitchen window view.




A day later and the news was even better, with a nice thick coating of pristine, marshmallowy goodness. I am still wildly and childishly excited by snow. Probably because I didn't grow up with it and so I am making up for lost time. But you have to agree that it has made the world look beautiful again.

I have read some bloggers saying how early the snow is this year and how they can't remember ever having such heavy snow in November, but all I can say is that they must have short memories. I recall on November 1st 2006, when Stockholm was crippled by a sudden, heavy snowfall - a good three weeks earlier than this week's one.




I am lucky that I need not take my car out for anything urgent (the joys of living in a small town with a short walk to all essential services), but I did feel for people stranded on trains and at airports waiting out the weather. One always takes a chance with that at this time of the year.

But for those of us out in the sticks, life is at a much slower pace and we have time to stroll around and collect dinner at our leisure.




I want to go out and gather up all of the elks and take them home to my apartment for the winter. Perhaps I could start a Swedish version of this elk farm in Russia and sell "moose milk". I cannot understand why people shoot these lovely, gentle animals which is why I am not saying where these two are. I already shudder every time I meet my next door neighbour in the stairwell, dressed in his camouflage gear and carrying his rifle....

I wonder if he needs a good hunting dog?

But downunder, it is gearing up for summer. And hoping to rub salt into out frozen wounds, Swedish friends of ours who are visiting Perth, keep sending us pictures of themselves wearing short sleeves and basking in the sunshine. And making me feel homesick when I see the Aussie flag.




Yeah, yeah, yeah Björn and Marianne, laugh as much as you like. You'll be home in a week, freezing your assets off like the rest of us.