Cold toes tucked in a warm blanket, the melody of trumpets, a piano, and a flute practicing the Christmas carols every morning, the whiff of cinnamon from freshly made Bavarian pudding, and as I roll up my window shade, the sight of fresh snow like cotton balls and sugar dust on dark wood trees. There is this little memory, tucked cozily in mind, of warm hugs on cold winter mornings, of barbeque picnics on a snow capped mountains, of smoked sausages, delicate potato dumplings, salty pretzels and warm Gluhwein in crowded Christmas Markets, bustling with excitement. There’s this little memory of my Christmas in Germany.
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