A Recipe for Hygge

A large dose of merriment in the holidays that herald the coming of winter, regardless of hemisphere.

Delight in the dashes of Joy that are the a blanc beauty of fresh fallen snow.

Dollops of peace in enjoying the solitude of a good book or movie, new or old.

On a snowbound night – nothing re-hydrates like hot cocoa if cold; a chilled chardonnay if warm.

Dole heaps of compassion and goodwill for humanity’s less fortunate.

Whisk together friendship where the pot luck results in a smorgasbord of laughter and love.

Keep an extra roux of wisdom and strength on hand for rejuvenation to reduce the doldrums that may appear. Serve yourself and others liberally as needed in remembering it is only a season, and like all seasons, this too shall pass.


What is Hygge? If you were to try to translate it, hygge (pronounced hoo-guh), like duende, it is more of a feeling than a word. It’s sort of a full-on embrace of all things toasty, cozy, and restorative to the soul, especially in wintertime.

Today at dVerse Michelle (Mish) tends the pub for Poetics and challenges us to create our own “recipe poem”, but not of the culinary kind. To instead, write about something more abstract such as “a recipe for love”.  Thus, for those of us, like myself – who are not major fans of cold weather –  I present my recipe for getting through the winter season quickly encroaching on the northern hemisphere.

dVerse ~Poets Pub | Poetics | Recipe Poems


We are in the first full week of December and several of my northern friends are already facing snow. It seemed a good time to get this recipe going.



Slice of Life Tuesday Writing Challenge : Two Writing Teachers


Imaginary Garden – The Tuesday Platform


Longing For The Feel Of Spring

Crocus buds in snow

I’m longing for the feel of spring;
The walls are closing on this room.
The fresh snowfall does not joy bring;
I want flowers in blush of bloom.

Oh, morning bluebird please come sing,
and chase away the winter gloom.
I’m longing for the feel of spring;
The walls are closing on this room.

As the phoenix’s prayer doth cling,
Of rising from the ashes womb;
I long to escape from this tomb.
Oh, just a glimpse one green thing!
I’m longing for the feel of spring.

Entered in

Poetry Picnic Week 22:
Spring, Colors, Trees, and New Lives