Sometimes I feel the need to escape the house. To get some fresh air, to have a nature experience.

I sneak over to the neighbors, a small summer cottage in the middle of old spruce trees. There is a pathway that I can follow, traces of a road that used to be there in the old days. Back when people used carriages to go from one house to another.

Even though it is still very snowy, here and there I can see astonishing patches of color.

I'm walking along the river bank, looking at reflections in the water. I'm hearing dozens of different birds singing, welcoming springtime.

In places, snow is still pretty deep. But I can hear water dripping, slowly but surely it is melting away. In the spring sun, the snow has beautiful hues.

I stop to admire the patterns of shadows on the snow.

Then I turn my head towards the river. I'm blown away by the blue of the water.

I've reached the cottage. The sun and the trees are doing shadow play on the wall.

The place is just magical. The big trees soften up the light and make it very mysterious. It looks like a storybook drawing.

I'm curious. I wish I could see the place inside. I wonder if it has the same special ambiance, a feeling of time standing still.

But I turn around. The cottage is locked and I really have no place being there. I hear a big bird somewhere closeby, in the trees, mocking me for my curiosity.

I head back home, slipping over the mossy rocks.