No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings.
William Blake (1757-1827)
Leo Honka
Of all the seasons that pass over Finland, possibly fall is the most magical. But what makes it stand out from the others?
Is it the pitch-darkness? Is it the vast universe above and its peppered celestial inhabitants that appear to gaze down on us longer than usual?
Yet again it could be the sound of rustling leaves and rapid breezes that holds on for a moment to trees before losing steam. Are they the moonlight beams that light timid forest paths that lead to places that test your courage?
Or is it the bittersweet combination of homesickness dancing momentarily with merry anticipation before you part for distant lands?
Searching for happiness
For some Finns, autumn is the most mysterious season. If a ghost house comes alive in the evening, all the spirits – imagined and real – appear to awaken from deepest slumber and to the woods during this time of the year.
For me, fall is that time when I fight pitch battles against melancholy with a sword called hope. The battle is waged by visits to the forest, which teems with lingonberries, mushrooms, and other delights.
The journeys into the woods can be very spiritual. They can be like brief walks on the avenues of the soul.

If weddings are commonplace in Finland at midsummer, it’s in fall when souls make secret vows and marry other souls in secret weddings under tall shady spruces by rushing, chilly streams playing splashing sounds with stones.
One of the forests I enjoy visiting in fall is near Vanhala, a hamlet made up of a few farmhouses and an elementary school. The village, which is located 15 minutes from Mikkeli, is so small that I once biked through it without noticing it.
Continue reading “Migrant Tales Literary: Where happiness lives”








