I wake up to the smell of freshly baked almond croissants. The second best kind, since the bakery in Durmenach is closed today. It’s always closed on Sundays. I know their opening schedule by heart by now. Getting the good croissants early in the morning is one of the little things in life I love the most.
Will there be any left for us when we arrive? The bakery is like a war zone in the morning. But victory can sure taste good. If not, you can always get the second best ones and let me tell you, they’re not bad either.
We have breakfast and then we drive to our construction site for a few hours of hard labour to build a future. I’ts a good feeling. Teamwork. Laughing. Finding solutions. Planning. Fantasising about how everything will fall into place one day. The air smells different today.
I’m wearing an old French military jacket that is way to large for me, a wool power sweater to keep me warm and a headlight. They come in handy when you are dismounting things in dark basements. His long, dark brown hair curls spreads out over his face. God I love those curls.
At days end when we reenter the main house I can smell the Sunday roast. Made with the largest possible portion of love. I hear Martine laugh in the kitchen. As she does.
We slip out of our working gear and I splash some fresh water on my face.
It´s Sunday. Time to eat, rest, spend time together and get lost in conversation.
I love Sundays.
Sweater: GANT Rugger
Spending quiet weekend in Stockholm. Rest and reflection. Pherhabs somewhat of a calm before a storm (next week is quite busy, so I hear).
Took a walk around the little lake in Hellasgården. Contemplated sauna and a swim but forgot swimsuit and felt it was just a teaspoon too early in the afternoon to go to jail, especially in front of all families with toddlers.
Found black trumpets. Again. And I wasn't even looking. Are they trying to tell me something?