You drive north, without knowing where the road will take you. The roads here seem endless. Small villages and scattered farms drift by. Reddish-brown houses appear between the greenery. All of them are wooden, painted in Falu red, a pigment from the copper mines that protects the wood against the harsh Scandinavian climate.

The farther north you go, the emptier it becomes. Vast forests and lakes take over the landscape. Every now and then, a house appears between the trees. Some look more abandoned than inhabited.

What would it be like to live here?

On the map, you spot a gravel road that ends at a remote lake. There are no buildings around it, only forest and water. Curious, you turn off the main road. After a while, you reach a clearing. A tractor track disappears between the bushes. You park the vehicle out of sight and continue on foot.

At the water’s edge, there’s a small wooden dock with a narrow strip of pebble beach beside it. You set down your chair and sit. Sunlight falls across the water and warms your face. For a moment, you close your eyes.

No traffic.

No voices.

Only the soft rustling of the wind through the trees.

Then the loud call of a red-throated loon echoes across the lake.

You open your eyes.

In the middle of the lake lies an island. A wooden house is hidden among the slender spruce trees. A life ring hangs on the wall, and a little farther away stands a red picnic table.

Could someone live there?

You scan the island.

No dock.

No boat.

No sign of life.

Only the house.

In the mirror-still lake, the line between sky and water begins to fade. The island seems to float, as though it has broken free from the water. Your eyes keep returning to it until you slowly lose track of time.

Night falls, although it never really gets dark. Midsummer nights have arrived. Through the opening of the tent, you can see the forest still glowing softly in the fading light.

You crawl into your sleeping bag and turn off the light.

A sound comes from somewhere in the distance.

“Poo… poo… poo…”

Again.

Closer this time.

You listen without moving.

Carefully, you pick up your phone. You open the bird identification app and start recording.

A few seconds later, a name appears on your screen:

Tengmalm’s owl.

Quietly, you unzip the tent.

Flashlight in hand, you shine it up between the branches.

There he is, high in the tree.

Bright yellow eyes stare back at you.

His head slowly turns as you move.

You take a photo.

Then that’s enough.

You turn off the flashlight and leave him alone.

The next morning, the sun warms the lake early. For the first time in days, it feels like summer. With a cup of coffee in your hand, you walk down to the lake.

The water is brown, like tea that has steeped for too long, but clear enough to see the rocks on the bottom.

You sit on the edge of the dock and lower your feet into the water.

The cold immediately shoots through your legs. You set the steaming cup of coffee beside you. Carefully, you wade into the water. Before you know it, you’re completely submerged.

The plunge wakes you up instantly. You roll onto your back and let yourself float for a moment.

Nothing but the gentle lapping of the water around you.

Then you swim back to the dock, grab a towel, and wrap it around your shoulders. You look out across the quiet lake.

Suddenly, you hear tires crunching over gravel behind you.

You turn around.

A man on a bicycle is coming toward you.

He brakes and gives you a friendly wave.

Wait a second…

Is he… naked?

He gets off his bike.

Without hesitation, he dives into the water.

Almost as quickly as he went in, he’s back out again.

A moment later, he disappears between the trees.

You take a sip of coffee and giggle.