The poem, There is nothing in the world as quiet as snow, was written by the author Helge Rode in 1886. The poem is quiet like the snow itself, offering us a new reality that is quiet, pure and gentle. *Højskolesangbogen
There is nothing in the world as quiet as snow, when it softly descends through the air, muffles your steps, hush, hushs gently on the voices that speak too loudly.
There is nothing in the world of a purity like snow, swan down from the white wings of heaven. On your hand a fluff is like a teardrop. White thoughts silently dance and sway.
There is nothing in the world that can soften like snow. Hush, you listen until the silent sounds. O, so fine a sound, Silver bell song Deep inside your heart is ringing.
This is a magnificent beach in Sejerø Bugt in Kattegat. It’s called Gudmindrup. But don’t tell anyone. Keep it as a secret 🙂
The sea was our main entertainment. When company came, we set them before it on rugs, with thermoses and sandwiches and colored umbrellas, as if the water – blue, green, gray, navy or silver as it might be – were enough to watch. ~ Sylvia Plath
We could cover the windows with snow spray.
If we do that, we don’t have to look at the horrible weather.
We were seated at a wonderful Christmas table though the view towards the sea was blurred.
The rocky coastline faded away in a rough sea and heavy rain.
However, we quickly forgot the weather in the cheerful company with anecdotes, singing and delicious food.
On Christmas Day the weather was excellent, the rain had stopped 🙂
To our dear hosts: May you live as long as you want,
And never want as long as you live.
Nu kom den sidste, den gamle morlille med ildpotten; hun frøs, men hendes øjne strålede som to klare stjerner. Hun bar en urtepotte med et lille grantræ. “Det vil jeg pleje og det vil jeg passe, så at det bliver stort til juleaften, når fra gulvet lige op til loftet, og gror med tændte lys, forgyldte æbler og udklipninger. Ildpotten varmer som en kakkelovn, jeg tager eventyrbogen op af lommen og læser højt, så at alle børnene i stuen bliver stille, men dukkerne på træet bliver levende og den lille engel af voks, øverst oppe i træet, ryster med knitterguldsvingerne, flyver fra den grønne top og kysser små og store inde i stuen, ja de fattige børn med, som står udenfor og synger julesangen om stjernen over Bethlehem!”
Tolv med posten, Et eventyr af Hans Christian Andersen
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