To Friendship, Creation, and Hyggelige Escapes
One winter, a cabin tucked away in the mountains will claim our pool of friends. At least for a time. A glorious time.
We will wrap ourselves up in blankets and friendship and wool socks. Our hands cupping mugs of steaming cocoa or spicy chai. The smells of drinks and forest and cedar fire intermingling as conversing kindred spirits.
After a few days – when real life has steeped away and our lungs are coated in mountain air, our breaths catching on contented smiles, our eyes reflecting the glorious light from stars and rivers and fires –we will create.
Blossoming minds opening as we pass the nights awake, compelling those midnight thoughts like rainbow fishes swimming overhead to pause a moment, asking them to spill their stories into our ready minds.
Then using hands, lips, pine brushes, film, pen; anything and everything. Passing thoughts to one another through long breaths, moving fingers, scratching quills, typing words, clicking cameras; all words lost in the dawning inspiration.
And when the pale blue snow glows rose, and the winds bring the first warm gold of day, and the rainbow thoughts settle back into the deep dark depths, we blink. And rise. Our eyes turn to the growing day. Perhaps there is time for a slow walk down that secret trail where a new dusting of snow has settled. Perhaps there is time for one long gaze at the world around, before rolling up in a patchwork quilt, heads on feather pillows and each other’s limbs.
To wake only when white world has set and the moon and stars and stillness have awakened. A quick coaxing of embers, a new hot mug in hand, some laughing and words before the jeweled night begins again.