Finland

1 : Landing in Stockholm

Falling gracefully from the bright blue sky, the paper thin layer of milky white cloud, which has been hovering just above the earth since leaving London, suddenly looms up like a never ending panorama of rolling hills. Through the valleys I can see the soft reflection of a far away land. We drop beneath the reach of the sun, into the shadow of a cotton wool mountain. Just before we sink below, the view is awash with warm purple hills, catching the light of the evening sun. Then all is lost in the dense sky fog. I shiver a little as we pass back into reality after our heavenly ride. The city below us is filled with trees, parks and lakes, and - I suspect - a warm breeze.

Then it's all over, we've touched down and taxi in to the simple airport. The whole atmosphere is full of peace, the airport staff are happy to help, friendly and calm. This feels like a higher form of air travel as yet unknown to me.

I easily find my way around, and sit waiting to leave, my heart full of regret that I don't have time to explore this city of trees. So I promise myself that I'll return here soon, and think of the friends and lakes that await me in Finland. Stockholm will leave its mark on me just from this view as I land. I already look forward to seven days time when I'll be back for another hour before I climb once more into a virtual world of sky and marshmallow hills gliding by.

I wish I was pure and untouched by TV, films and CG, which have warped my world so that I am used to watching unreal scenes, and numb to the beauty of the real world as it flickers by on the screen of my eyes.

A deeper stirring is happening within, looking for more than these physical things. But I'm called away, it's time to board, I look forward to coming back soon.

2 : On to Finland

As we fly out again in a smaller plane, I watch the trees fade out of sight. Thousands of firs straining toward the sky, striving to grow to be the highest. But from four miles above they seem like countless matchsticks dropped from heaven, lining the ground, waiting to be burnt. So big from below, yet tiny from above, I wonder if it's like this with us and God?

We land and I'm met, greeted with warmth. We drive through the trees that go on and on. Talk into the night with lovers and friends, then as morning arrives we finally sleep. Some things are the same all over the world, we wake, wash and eat, then go out in the sun.

Once the shopping is done we drive for a mile then get out and walk through the quiet forest, walking softly on a bed of long discarded needles. We break off the marked track and carry on down a secluded path, weaving in and out of huge granite boulders left behind by a retreating ice age, I wonder how much things have changed since then. And when this place will be covered in ice again, and of the soft reminder of colder times that falls here each winter, hiding the very rocks that speak of the frozen past.

Back into the sun, I'm fascinated by the army of wood ants slowly changing their world, each one so small but together so strong. Again I wonder, this time about their social structure, if indeed they have one, and how much simpler life must be for them. Where's the distinction that allows us to understand our world? Are we alone in being close enough to God to somehow grasp his greatness?

We have to turn back, but I could walk here all day. Later, we go to a lake, and the four of us pack food into two canoes, one of which is leaking, and is fixed with some sticky tape as another reminder to me of the more relaxed attitude of this country.

We paddle out into the slightly choppy water and are quickly a long way from the shore. I regret leaving my camera on the safety of dry ground as my perspective changes, taking in the surface top view, islands and shore roll into one in a sea of trees which surrounds our lake. I think of the water in my blood, being pushed through my veins, which stretch through my muscles, wrapped up in my skin. Which sits in a boat, surrounded by water, the lake itself confined by the forested land, which reaches out to the edge of the sea...

We paddle on, the wind behind us, zig-zagging along as we try to get the right balance at the front and back of our leaking canoe. Then we land, and clamber onto the shore, dragging our boats reluctantly from the choppy lakeside. We walk and climb to the top of the hill, getting lost and wandering through unknown land, eating wild berries. I think about how it would be to live like this, just gathering food, and of the fish in the lake, hidden from view.

We finally reach our destination and are refreshed by the breeze as we survey the lake from our elevated vantage point. Feeling hungry from our climb, we rush down toward the lake, the winding path easy to follow, even when it seems to disappear for meters at a time, lost in a confusion of bushes and ferns. Before getting back to our canoes we stop and eat our fill of wild raspberries. I soon tire of this and sit on a rock, watching the high leaves on the trees pretending to burn in the wind, the air set on fire with their swaying song. I wish I did this more often, just sitting, enjoying, creation.

Back in our canoes we make straight for a round island, land at the jetty and unload our rations. We walk around the edge, collecting wood for a fire, until we come to the place, already laid out with a ring of stones and a bench which becomes our table for the ensuing meal. The smoke from our fire slowly journeys across the lake, adding to the evening glow as the sun prepares to hand over its watch to the moon. The clouds in the sky are bright with the sun, and the trees on the other side smoulder a rich golden brown. Pink flowers growing in the shallow water catch our attention, and I know that this place was made just for us. The fire warms our food, which combined with salad, yogurt and juice provides a primitive banquet for our pleasure and nourishment. We break back into the world of information, which smothers and hides this one of simple beauty, with a mobile phone call to the owner of our boats who says he'll meet us on shore in half an hour. So we pack up, burn our rubbish and leave this place ready for whoever will come and enjoy it tomorrow. No mark of our being here is left behind as we fade into the night like the smoke.

Just as we got back to land the change over took place, the purple glow of the clouds tells us that the sun is leaving us, and as we turn away, we see the full orange face of the moon, smiling at us through the tree tops. Driving back into town I wonder what could be more beautiful than this land of lakes, alive with dreams and imaginations of what it all means.

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