Sunflowers are blooming in the field around. The sun is setting, and the horizon is highlighted by the boundaries of an earthy field. The owner of the house leads you to the front door and returns to the autumn harvesting. I am entering an old house with a doubtful but smart renovation: somewhere else they still have to polish. The floorboards creak: the house is about a hundred years old, but he certainly heard more than a hundred compliments. Rare sounds of cars and runners rushing past.
The smallest room brings us back to childhood and takes to the lighthouse in the dream life: most definitely this is the place where in the morning, in the fresh warm bed sheets, love comes to a rested body and mind.
The remnants of mint are grown merrily, because winter is coming, but the girls have the most serious intentions for the spring plantations. The atmosphere of provincial tranquility reigns in the house, and you feel you already want to choose a key for every old dark brown chest of drawers. Holiday flags in the room on the ground floor arrived from France, the bed is made with linen from Ikea (show me the one who does it in a different way?). On the nightstand we see the main book on acquaintance with Sweden: En man som heter Ove.
There is only greenery around in the windows, and in the middle there is a kitchen with a wide table, where the girls laugh and drink coffee from tiny old white espresso mugs. In the evenings, they play French songs that will remain loved even after many years.
