The Hygge
Eleventh month when the Sun parched the toppled trees
Winds of South rallying on bended knees
Birds and beasts plunge on tarns and soft mountains
Running waters congealing like sedentary fountains...
Only one tree will stand tall
On Christmas Day as dusts and spalls begin to fall
Two days of live still pictures
On painted strokes and prilled erasures
One spark will clear the brume and waves of the unknown...
the hygge!
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