Journal
Everything written so far, newest first. Roughly one entry a month, sometimes fewer when the weather is good.
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Ruska in a poor year
The autumn colour was supposed to be dull this year — a wet August, an early frost. It was not dull. It was simply shorter.
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First frost on the bog
The bog holds cold differently from the forest. You feel it through the boots before you see it.
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The mushroom rule that keeps me alive
Nine species in the basket, one left in the forest because I was not certain.
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Night that does not arrive
Three weeks in the north in July, and I never once needed the torch I packed.
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What the mosquitoes are actually like
Worse than you were told in the south of the country, better than you were told in the north.