My Holiday home is never complete until one special guest enters my house. The Tree.
Some of you might recall that I have a particular tradition in my white house on a hill - I cut down my very own Christmas tree each year.
Well, I do get help with the actual cutting - nevertheless - it is a winter Saturday that I look forward to with almost a childish enchantment and anticipation.
In Denmark, tree plantations that grow spruce trees for this purpose, where people are allowed to select and cut the tree of their choice, are very common. The experience to walk among the trees and finding the one, which is just right - is one of a kind. It carries so much symbolism and represents an almost nostalgic Holiday sentiment.
This year the white snow added a great deal of magic to this December tradition, as the tree, its branches still heavy with the wintry precipitation, entered my home. The air grew gently saturated with the scent of fresh pine and the spices of hot wine, while I trimmed sparsely its evergreen attire - keeping it simple, the way I prefer. As the day slowly closed towards its end and the afternoon twilight brought on the illumination of my beautiful guest, the atmosphere of happiness in the company of my very good friends created a perfect Holiday moment, completing a winter fantasy...
I was born under the Tatra Mountains, to a Czech father and a Slovak mother. I grew up in Sweden and lived almost ten years in North Carolina.
More than a decade ago my line of work took me to Denmark, where I live today. My home, which I share with the man that holds my heart, lies in the northerly part of a Danish peninsula, in the proximity of endless, wide and pristine westbound sandy beaches, surrounded by the rough and untamed North Sea.
My writing is defined by reflections on my cosmopolitan past and my intriguing present. Ultimately I try to convey in words and images my personal thoughts and feelings about life itself, with all its magic, natural splendour and the beauty of simple pleasures.