Remembering

I took Emma up to the summit of Mount Trosa today, after lunch, while Mirinda was busy speaking online Swedish and, I can faithfully report that the four foundations with the bolts on top were, in fact, for the support of a second antenna. It looks exactly like the other one.

Actually, I heard them the other day, bolting the whole thing together with the helicopter once more hovering and, I assume, delivering stuff.

So, just like that, instead of the single mast landmark, there are now two.

Walking up to the summit was, in a small way, my way of memorialising Freya. I kept looking behind me, seeing if she was still there, slowly walking along with me. Obviously, she wasn’t. But Emma was. I like to think she was doing the same thing. A way to say goodbye.

Then, for us all to give Freya a final family goodbye, we had dinner at Matstudio. The food was, as usual, excellent, the service superb – though they did overbook meaning we had to sit outside; not that that was a problem because they crowded our table with heaters rather than other diners – and the night a fitting tribute to our little monkey.

She (along with Emma) visited the restaurant with us so many times that she probably thought it was a second home.

In the morning, feeling somewhat lyrical, I wrote a poem.

Falling by Gaz
Leaves wittering in the trees
As breeze after breeze brushes by.
Falling to an already crowded ground,
Bits of brown litter flourish.
The breezes are cool, the leaves slowly brittling,
Heralding the arrival of Autumn,
And Freya's leaving.
Sleep well, little Monkey,
beneath the leaves of Trosa.