I grew up where the forest met the sea. Summers in Sweden were quiet, like a held breath. The air smelled of salt and pine, and the days felt endless — the sun dipping just low enough to remind you that time still passed.
We spent our days barefoot on sun-warmed rocks, picking blueberries by the edge of the forest, and rowing to small islands no one else knew. Evenings were for grilled fish, soft blankets, and stories whispered over candlelight.
It was simple. It was slow. And in that stillness, I learned what it meant to feel safe.
Even now, I carry that silence with me — like a soft echo of home.