One evening in February I came near to dying here. The car skidded sideways on the ice, out on the wrong side of the road. The approaching cars – their lights – closed in.
My name, my girls, my job broke free and were left silently behind further and further away. I was anonymous like a boy in a playground surrounded by enemies.
The approaching traffic had huge lights. They shone on me while I pulled at the wheel in a transparent terror that floated like egg white. The seconds grew – there was space in them – they grew as big as hospital buildings.
You could almost pause and breathe out for a while before being crushed.
Then something caught: a helping grain of sand or a wonderful gust of wind. The car broke free and scuttled smartly right over the road. A post shot up and cracked – a sharp clang – it flew away in the darkness.
Then – stillness. I sat back in my seat-belt and saw someone coming through the whirling snow to see what had become of me.
I have been walking for a long time on the frozen Östergötland fields. I have not seen a single person.
In other parts of the world there are people who are born, live and die in a perpetual crowd.
To be always visible – to live in a swarm of eyes – a special expression must develop. Face coated with clay.
The murmuring rises and falls while they divide up among themselves the sky, the shadows, the sand grains.
I must be alone ten minutes in the morning and ten minutes in the evening. – Without a programme.