Swedish: Prästkrage

English: Oxeye Daisy

The sun is approaching the horizon, where it will only stay briefly before turning back again on this shortest night of the year. Yellow streaks across the purple sky create an aura of otherworldliness. This is the sky of a magical fantasy world or a distant planet. It doesn't feel at home at the height of Swedish summer, we're recent adults engage in the games of growing up.

White petals brush against my calf. I smile as I discover the offending flower. I stand in an ocean of priest collars, with a yellow sun in the middle and white wispy petals surrounding it. The same flowers that are scattered across the fabric of my long dress.

Fadime, who has released my hand to walk ahead of me on a new narrow path, turns and lits up into a smile as well. She sees me and she sees the flowers. She sees we're the same. She sees that I belong here.

I carefully pick a flower to include in my midsummer bouquet, making sure to pick the biggest and brightest bloom.