August was here and with it a wondrous silence. The season for blueberries, lingon berries and chanterelles.

There are few things so peaceful to search for berries and mushrooms in the sparse pine forest in and close by the mire. The only sound I hear is the buzzing flies, cranes calling and silent chirpings by the newly out flewn nestlings. The stillness is so strong that I almost can’t speak in fear of disturbing the peace. There is always this special tranquillity of August which I suddenly notice, as if by turning the page of the almanac a new theme is given, that of fruit and preparation.

While I am sitting there in midst of the blue- and lingonberry sprigs gathering blue and red sunshine under the peaceful whisper of the pines, the young birds of marsh, blue, and great tit are tentatively discovering their newly found environment.

My dogs too get in another mood when I start picking berries. From being running with the bicycle in a brisk mood, they settle down, sniff a little, make a comfortable sleeping place in the sprigs and not just sleep, but rest in a way that shows how well suited they are amidst the natural beauty.

I realise then that through them I get a little taste of sensing the situation with a precence of mind being both resting and attentive. Toby could lie there as if in deep sleep and suddenly he snaps after a fly on his nose. He could quickly lift his head directing his attention towards something he has perceived, which is beyond my senses.

While enjoying the lovely sound and view of boxes full of red lingonberries the ambience of the forest is so secretive and absorbing that it is not without an effort I leave, almost fearing that the road into this wondrous world will be lost next time I come.

Midsummer is past and summer is maturing into autumn. I do so like midsummer. At first it was the feast to John the Baptist, but here in Sweden that is now forgotten, which is a great pity. I think, Midsummer contains a great drama, everything stands on its peak and at the same time, preparing for winter. The sun solstice here in the north this Midsummer I had decided to make a daisy-chain.

I love to have flowers in my hair, and this celebration is a celebration in nature and among the flowers. Thus making a daisy-chain is like wearing a bouquet in one’s hair. After a google search, I found useful instructions on a YouTube clip and managed to make one that I just had to take a photo of. We sat up after dinner watching the sun slowly setting behind the horizon, the longest day of the year. It also brings with it a longing for heaven, where life never ends.

Some days ago I had to stay at home because of a poor little ewe that had fallen ill. My mother was also at home and the others went to Stockholm to the meeting I was supposed to go to. It was a beautiful weekend and I managed to make progress with my new paddock for the sheep.

But then I decided to make a rhubarb pie the next morning to have after lunch the same day. It is such a privilege to step out in the garden with just birdsong around me, pick some rhubarb stalks and then in peace make a pie for just us two.

While sitting there with my mother during lunch I realised more concretely how lovely it is to have lived with her for so long, to really get to know her, to be inspired by her, to build on what she has started and just to grow in friendship. I realised too how much can be achieved in a relationship with simplicity and humility; to really see her.

And the rhubarb pie? It was delicious.

After a cold and dry spring the warm and dry weather arrived. Trees and herbs seemed to be waiting for life giving water. At last it came and suddenly my whole world turned into countless nuances of green. The flowers bowed their heads as if in gratitude. Drops of water covered the petals like transparent pearls. The fragrance needs a poet to do justice… When I looked at one of our wild tulips in the garden I started thinking about how they felt the rain. The tactile sense of plants must be very developed in plants since they have limitations in the other senses. But the thought remained in my mind, how such a pleasure silent rain must be for a flower, like balm on a dry hand and perhaps also like water for a dry throat. How little we know about the nature that surrounds us.

I wonder if animals can feel wonder? Research on the self-consciousness of animals presents new fascinating discoveries every year on the issue. But can they recognise that they are created and observe their surrounding with awe? Some people are afraid of the question, but I see no need to be afraid over this question. When I look at my dogs, I think sometimes that they are observing and reflecting over what they see in the same manner as I do, but at the same time they seem to be part of nature in such a way that I feel like an outsider watching the trees and fields, flowers and birds. However, I think they sense in some way that they are caused; how I don’t know, but it is fun to speculate.

The birds of spring are here, beauty on the verge of pain. The privilege of living in and of nature have made me a little more part of nature than observer, I have noticed. As if the closeness to both flora and fauna have created a stronger sense of having the same source as the animals and plants. But the question remains if and how much they sense awe.

On an evening walk today I observed a blackbird singing on the top of a fir. I stopped and listened with both joy and peace to the melodious song. Between the parts of his song he bent his head, listened and looked around. Did he experience the beautiful view while listening and did he feel joy? I really hope he did.