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153 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1964
To a farm in Bäck in Ljungby parish in eastern Skåne there came on day a letter announcing that a widow from America was on her way at the expense of the American government. She came across the Atlantic. Her destination was one of the villages north of the Landö lighthouse on Skåne’s east coast, of the sort where the courtyard farmhouses’ great barn doors face the coastal wetlands. In the summer the doors are for the most part left open and one can look right through the barn, as if it were a massive gateway, upon the pastures and the sea – the still gray sea beneath the white sky gives off a light like nothing else in this world; mild, sick; a misty white light, as mute as the blind milk of membrane around an extinguished eye; in this silent white light rest meadows so green, and the sound of steps or hoofbeats vanish without echo in the soft green sward, there reigns the silence, the birds, the scent of grass, the scent of broom, and between the people too a membrane-like silence: the white soft light upon the meadows, between the buildings, inside the buildings – words drown, the fate of the word is to drown is it not?