A Winter Morning on Vrångö: Silence, Light and the First Breath of the Season

The alarm goes off at an ungodly hour, and outside it is still dark—so dark that the world feels paused. But as the coffee starts to drip into the pot, the horizon slowly softens. A hopeful streak of blue-pink light spreads across the sky, and as the sun pushes itself higher, it becomes clear that a beautiful winter morning is on its way. November light is rare and precious—perhaps that’s why it feels almost magical.

Coffee in hand and scarf around the neck, there is no reason to stay indoors on a morning like this.

Long underwear, thick socks, a hat pulled low over sleepy eyes—and then out the door. The cold wraps around you instantly. Every breath hangs like a small cloud in the air. Stars still linger in the mostly dark sky and the island glitters, crisp and quiet.

A walk across Vrångö reveals that twenty-four households have already put up their Advent stars and candle arches (yes, the island really is that small). We pause at window after window, admiring the warm glow. It makes us long for Christmas.

On the eastern side of the island, the sun rises slowly over the water while the morning ferry carries the schoolchildren toward the neighbouring islands. On the western side, the sky turns winter-pink—a colour that seems unique to this season. Everything is still, completely silent. Then a single gull calls out, and five more join in, as if they’ve agreed to start the day together. Otherwise, the world still seems asleep.

Cheeks turn redder than the poinsettias in the windows. Fingers stiffen in the cold, but there’s no point in stopping to warm them—because the camera must stay in hand. Behind every corner, every boathouse, every turn of the path, another beautiful view is waiting. Some of them have been photographed hundreds of times before, but each day feels different; the changing light reshapes the entire world.

Morning becomes late morning, and the soft pink glow shifts into a sharper winter white. We can hardly wait for snow to come—but until then, we savour every winter minute we’re given.