Our global sustainability team lives across more time zones than anyone can hold in their head at once. Most weeks it is agendas, numbers, the polite overlap of accents.
Then, somewhere between two items, one of them dropped a link. Sibbjäns. And a photograph: stone laid dry and patient, a thatch roof pulled down over it like a hood against the wind, crossed poles at the peak still catching the very end of the sun.
They are taking their honeymoon there in September 2026. They said it the way you say a small true thing — and then added, almost in passing, that they will come back again.
stone stacked without mortar.
The light arrives sideways.
“We'll come back again.”
— a teammate, mid-meeting, about a place none of us had heard of
That's the part I keep turning over. Not the going — anyone can go once. The returning. A place you already know you'll miss before you've finished being there.
So I wrote it down. Not a plan. Just a line in the list I keep for the places I mean to stand in, at the hour the stone goes gold.
My list — latest entry
- Sibbjäns Go once. Then go back, the way they said.
The link my teammate sent