It smells like snow. The fairy lights sparkle. A fire crackles in the oven. The scent of mulled wine beckons into the warm living room. But first, a stroll through the park.
The kitchen harvests kale from the beds. Will it end up on our plates later?
Perhaps I’ll treat myself to a round of stargazing with a fine cocktail in hand after dinner.
Technically, our departure is planned for tomorrow.
An inner voice calls out,
„Stay [Blyb.] a little longer.“