A Påske Greeting from the Nisser

“From our forest to your hearth — We wish you a gentle Påske.” - Dag, Elder of the Ruby Council

The snow has begun to loosen its hold.

Not all at once—no, it never does.
But in quiet places beneath the trees, where the light lingers just a little longer each day, the earth has started to breathe again.

I have seen it.

A soft darkening of the soil.
A whisper beneath the moss.
A promise.

Ragna has seen it too.

She walks the forest now with careful hands, her pockets filled with seeds she has carried all winter long. Soon, she will begin her work—scattering color where once there was only white. She says the ground is nearly ready.

Vinda listens to the wind as it changes its song.
Mara watches the streams as they begin to stir and run.
Bråkan, as always, stumbles where the thaw has made the ground uncertain—but even he laughs more easily now.

Olan has begun opening the smaller paths, clearing branches and stones as the forest wakes.
Knut lingers near the hearth, tending what must remain warm while the season shifts.
Tiril gathers the first signs of green, holding them like small treasures.
And Lille Skygge…

Ah.

He has been seen at the edges of the light again, where shadow and sun meet—just as he prefers.

As for me…

I walk between them.

Watching. Listening. Remembering.

This is the turning.

Not winter. Not yet spring.
But the moment between—when everything begins again, quietly, without announcement.

If you listen closely, you may hear it too.

In the soft drip of thawing snow.
In the hush before the first bloom.
In the stillness that is not empty—but full.

Even now, along the higher paths, the last of the skiers pass through—gliding over snow that will not remain much longer. They carry with them simple things… a warm drink, a quiet laugh… and always, the orange.

We have seen them pause beneath the trees, their breath rising in the cool air as they peel it slowly, the scent bright and sweet against the fading winter.

It is a small tradition.

But then… the smallest things often are.

From our forest to your hearth—

We wish you a gentle Påske.

—Dag, Elder of the Ruby Council