There’s a special place north of the Arctic Circle. The town, named after a grouse, is in the grip of winter. It was born out of ore findings, and it has a mine. The ore feeds the town, but the mine grows and caverns out the ground below. And for the mining to continue, the town has to move.

Boards fall and houses, that are not torn down, wheel around the streets. The grouse must spread her wings, rise, and land further east.

I watch Kiruna through the eyes of a newcomer, and as one, I guess it should be easier to accept the changes. But somehow, the escaping bird makes melancholy sing in my stomach.