As I slip off the jetty into the chilly water of Lagmanshagasjön, the world loses all distinction. Low mist blurs everything; I can’t see where the lake ends and the sky begins. It is like breaststroking into a silvery infinity. I haven’t bothered with swimwear. Between the tannin-dark water and early morning brume, I can barely see myself, let alone be seen. And dissolving into nature feels delicious: wearing nothing and seeing nothing, I am feeling everything.
I eventually climb out (flashing an unsuspecting heron), dress quickly and walk back to my “room” – a dazzling cabin made of glass hidden among mossy mounds, blueberry bushes and pine trees. Before long, Katarina arrives with a basket of home-baked sourdough and local cheese. She leaves, and I eat in a silence so loud it seems to vibrate.
