It is a magical white winter's day in southern Finland. A beautiful, but very cold day. The sky is pale blue, and a bleak sun is showing itself as a sign of hope.

People are coming out from their homes, having realised that they are now actually moving towards the light, although this will be a slow process. Those who do not fear taking deep breaths of icy air are hurrying to the forest, carrying skis and poles. In an hour they are back with ice-grey bushy hair, beards and eyebrows, and cheeks red like apples.

Meanwhile, the sun is setting behind a cluster of firs and pines, and looks like a giant orange, with light yellow skies around it. Soon there will be blue shadows falling over the landscape.

Someone with a really bad conscience and a long black tail hurries to the bedroom, and in a while he is asleep, dreaming sweet dreams of summer adventures. In an adjoining room a Christmas tree has been knocked over, and now it lies gently against the window-pane, while the first snow-flakes of this week start falling down upon old high drifts.

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