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12/14/2023
Medusa00
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Medusa00
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21
There's a place by the fireplace
The sound of bells from afar
Stars shine above us
No one far and wide
There are two of us
Walking through the white winter forest
You can hear the snow and ice crackling
Because we only whisper quietly
We feel just like Gretel and Hans
Walking through the white winter forest
Softly, softly white flakes fall
And a deer steps out of the forest
Brown eyes look quite startled
If the forest is too cold for you, come home with me
There's a place by the fireplace
That belongs to our kitten
Before you get all emotional, I'd better tell you a pre-Christmas story. Besides, the snow is gone again, but let's imagine it was still here and we had a real winter with snow, ice and frost from December 1st to February 28th.
Quietly, quietly, white flakes fall and it's not the deer that steps out of the forest in fright, but dad, who has illegally felled a pine tree.
In tow is Newfoundland dog Pussy, who has repeatedly attacked the tree on the way, so that there are only about 20 needles left. Well, and it is put up anyway. As a memorial to the overexploitation of nature. From today, Advent, ergo arrival, has a whole new meaning.
Dad stomps the snow off his boots. In the living room, the whole family and their offspring are sitting by the fireplace. The fire crackles and the sugar loaf on the sugar tongs above the fire tongs punch crackles and drips.
Grandpa peels big oranges, lots of big oranges. He throws the peels into the punch bowl and crows (with a slight huff): "Finally, blood oranges again...." He has taken his teeth out so that the zest doesn't sneak behind his teeth. Warm, spicy aromas waft up from the table. Mom has once again baked her special Christmas stollen. Many, many spices waft through the room. Aunt Edith is knitting green alpaca wool scarves for everyone, a green hint on the side. The wood crackles in the fireplace, it was still damp and a little resinous. A teapot with incense burns under the punch bowl. The children stuff themselves with vanilla crescents.
Cousin Genoveva arrives with her 25th fiancé. At 39, she is now in her 3rd puberty. She had made a Christmas tree chain out of cinnamon sticks. At least the shaggy thing smelled spicy now.
Of course, the kitten was lying by the fireplace and Pussy was running around with Santa Claus, who had slipped down the banister. An unequal fight. 80 kg Newfoundland against a 1.50 m tall Santa Claus with absorbent cotton filling. Every year the Christ Child comes down. White flakes fall softly, softly.....
Conclusion: Although I am not a fruit lover, I say CHAPEAU Mrs. Neuffer. Full-bodied, spicy-warm orange fragrance with amazing longevity. However, I see Vermilion Orange more in the cold season.
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