I try not to be awake in the night but in these difficult times sleep is sometimes hard to come by.

Last night both of us were awake at one point. This can sometimes because we’ve been disturbed by a fall in the mine, a dull thud and vibration or a sensation as if a car has just driven into the house – an ‘expected seismic event’ as they like to call it. By the time you’re awake, though, it’s hard to know for sure what is was – all is quiet.

Our conversation in the night starts from random points of thought. Thinking of where we are, what was happening, trying not to panic. Was it the equinox today, I asked? Yes, at 04.50 today. I looked at the clock: it was 04.52. We were woken, it seems, by the equinox.

The equinox is the moment when here everything is turned on its head. Our expectation of more darkness than other parts of the world becomes instead an expectation of more light.

But today we know, everywhere in the world has (almost) the same amount of daylight. It’s a day of perfect balance, where the angles of the world make the rays of sun feel equal distances to our land masses. Not too much, not too little, just right – ‘lagom’ as they say in Swedish.

Seeing a slither or red along the horizon I sighed. Soon the light will come screaming at us, face up against the bedroom window at 2 in the morning. There will be no darkness to lull us to sleep and the daylight will be relentless, like a toddler demanding constant attention, if we should open half an eye during the night.