My mother dip candles, i.e., candles. She makes chandeliers of four or six beautiful, asymmetrical white candles sitting together in a circle of candle wax. She has stopped down to such a chandelier in a cardboard box for me.
”Aktas”, she has written on the box, in capital letters. When I step on the train, to carry miracle to Stockholm brought all the animal instincts in me. Came not near my board! Dare not touch it! Away! All that I want to scream.
knökfullt. The train before was broken so it never went. Now, two rounds of people take to Stockholm for a game of trains. It will be standing room in 20 miles. With perhaps the world's most valuable cardboard in between the legs.
Arriving at the Central station it is just trying to float by in the stream of densely compressed, kallsvettiga people. I note that many of them also carry the cartons and packages. They can't possibly have the same valuable content as my cardboard.
it? It would be fantastic!
the Chandelier is great when I get home. In the box there is a patch. ”Now, go out in the woods, find a little lingonberry or blueberry bushes and so decorate you with it,” writes the mother.
I love her for it. Late embrace I a gråfuktig Sunday in Ursviksskogen with a pair of scissors in your pocket. Now it is soon christmas again, I have time to think before I near enough just a dude on a mountain bike. It has become crowded in Stockholm.
Ulrika Village is a reporter at DN. She gets more and more often a feeling that the infrastructure in this town is on the verge of bursting due to the internal pressure. Wonder how it will look, not if, but when.