WINTER WALKABOUT
It’s snowing in Hunneberga, but not in Hammarlunda or Holmby, nor at home. My boots are slightly too big. My feet slide a little bit inside as I walk, forward and back. By the end of my half hour roundabout they will have had a thorough falling-out with my socks who will have slouched and slid down and made annoying little ridges under the arch of each foot. My big boots make a crumping noise on the crushed crystals of the frozen snow. It’s dark but for the puddled glow of the streetlights, strung like beads along each path and...