Sometime on the train we crossed into the Arctic. I woke up with the carriage to myself just north of Umeå and everything was covered in snow. Feet of snow. Thick. Like icing smothering an undeserving cupcake.
Two colors told it all. Black conifers balancing thin white snowdrifts out to their limbtips. A blackblue sky. Ground white as eyes, textured like etched glass.
Kiruna won't see the sun again until after the first week of January.