While she draws colorful swirls with her crayons, Olivia bubbles with excitement to tell me how she will spend her birthday in the land of her ancestors, as her mom says. My daughter is obsessed with a children’s book about Finnish mythology, and she envisions chasing the northern lights in one of those coastal villages in Lapland, where every house is of a different color. The wintry skies will be perfect for aurora viewing.
“Ravens are like huge crows!” she marvels, gesturing with her hands. One of these ravens will lead her to the port to embark on a vessel. The crew of walrus sailors will be captained by a fox who will regale her with the Finnish tale of the Firefox while they aurora hunt on the bay. He will tell her how the Firefox is a shining, glowing fox with a fiery tail running through the forests. As the Firefox’s tail grazes the sturdy tree trunks and caresses the pristine snow, it ignites shimmering sparks that ascend skyward, illuminating the darkness with an ephemeral brilliance and creating the northern lights.
When the captain’s story ends, green shapes of light will cascade above, surrounding her as the aurora begins its celestial dance. The emerald hues will sway gracefully, entwined with vibrant violets, forming a cosmic masterpiece in the vast night canvas.
It would be a nice trip to be a part of if her mother and I were still married. But soon, my ex-wife Anja, who has Finnish heritage, will arrive to pick up my little girl and take her to the airport for their flight to Helsinki.
After they leave, I go to bed. In the morning, I wake and stumble to the kitchen to make coffee. I gaze upon Olivia’s drawing from the previous day, which she left on the kitchen counter.
A giant fox covers the top part of her creation, and a boat on the ocean composes the bottom half. There’s Captain Fox at the ship’s wheel with Olivia in the middle and Anja and me on each side of her. The ravens, once guides in Olivia’s tale, now seem to watch over us with a solemnity that mirrors my own feelings. I admire her artistry, longing for the family unity we once shared.
I take a sip of caffeine, hoping to shake off the weight of melancholy that clings to me, like mist on a winter morning. As I set the mug down, I notice a small note in the corner of Olivia’s drawing, in her neat, childish handwriting: “For Dad, who will always be part of my adventures.” A faint smile touches my lips, and for a moment, the weight of sadness is lifted.
panoply, a literary zine 