The quiet of the dark hours. That between closing the door to the rest of the house to open the window to let the cold in from outside and the quiet waking up of the world where the smell of coffee and bacon wafts in from under the door and the birds chatter about the latest gossip? The in between where I’m cloistered in hygge (hoog-uh) of darkness, cold and quiet, with no demands and no expectations.
down
and around
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