Vinter Och Glögg Or Post-Impressionistic Impressions of Ice-Jacketed Branches And Sideboards Or What Happens in Sweden On Christmas Eve.

Winter is here. Frozen, snow-covered branches and needles fill windows round the house.  Winter as my eyes, memory and all those ice-covered roads masquerading as neural networks fashion winter.  Cold on the outside?  Well, then drink a glass of glögg, mulled wine heavy on the allspice, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg and on and on.

After a few restoring glasses, walk outside and enter a frozen world turning your syllables into powdery clouds dissipating into snow right-side up and left-side down.  Those pathways for cells carrying code in waves look like thin, charcoal-black arms waving in the air as though they want to gather you close to their bark and breath.  Sometimes winter matches the mind of snow and snowmen.  Too much?

Return to glögg, except kick-up the ABV so you can slip into a warm nap midday as the sun begins a slow walk down hallways to its room where at last light it slips under blankets and comforters and a night’s sleep.  Then, in your dreams you may visit the Winter-Tree, Queen of the Forest and stand watching wind comb her hand straight, dark and iced.

The Winter-Tree, Queen of the Forest, who branches and roots above ground as she does under dark, frozen earth.  A cold dream for sure, so when you wake-up from your midday dream, you may wish to have another glass of glögg.

If you’re lucky, by the time you’ve had fifth or sixth glass of glögg you’ll start seeing The Folk who dance and play through winter houses warm with fire, light and, of course, glögg.  God Jul!