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That Black, jealousy water, is beautifully shiny.
I have a canoe on the bank.
In case I have to escape.
You walk with your red Steps
Trough my forest. Me and you butterfly, hide behind the trees.





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This photo is from my year at Wik, but this is how it look like today.


I was back again. And if I cud choose I would be someone’s scarf, wild around someone’s shoulders.
The smell in the walls. Carlos, from Brazil?
There was snow over Wik. I think it was there to hold the spirits back.
To protect.
But I saw the stone, star at us, with horror in it eye. The horse grave.
Wik says, choose yourself!
Scotland sad the same thing. Scotland and wik are two wise aunts to listen to.
Uppsala just say a lot of rubbish sometimes. I know what I will choose.
I got a cake with a messages. “Get rid of all the scum’s”
I think I know with one, that has to go. Suddenly I know a lot.