Stories just begin. We rarely know where and almost never why. It doesn't matter. Nothing is certain any longer. I just want to shut my eyes, point at random and say, as a sort of experiment, that once, when I was 16 years old, I spent a whole night singing romantic songs in the top of a pine tree. That's where it may have started. Fredrik Sjöberg continues his exploration of the pleasures and trials of those who spend their time tracing the smallest details of the natural world in these two tales of ambition, fear and hapless romance