AAlthough the shadows are getting longer by the minute, the famous Scandinavian darkness is not here yet.

Golden leaves are still hanging desperately on the oaks, clinging to the feeble memories of the summer. But you can feel it. A soothingly cool, moist breeze- it washes over your face and fingers because deceived you forgot to take the gloves.

“I thought it was warmer,” you told yourself, slightly pissed off, looking at the stain of light shooting at the tips of the semi bare golden crowns. But the trees didn’t care, standing patiently as the dim indigo sky played its tricks. You wrapped yourself up a little bit more, crossing the drowning streets. Emerald, grey, blue- dark tones washed over the pavement tide after tide pushing aureate leaves aside like lost warm days.

The shadows rose, covering everything with a dark veil pierced by silver stars. They spilled its calm beauty around like a wild Pantone charade asking to guess the faces of bypassers. You tried to see through their dark mystery, squinting your eyes and tracing faint rays of the fickle sun.

But the sun laughed at you and crawled low on the ground pulling your hungry mind with it. Up and down, you went on a little melancholy trip no matter how happy you were.

Everyone missed the light. But there were lots of breaks and pleasant workdays orchestrated as if in a silent agreement to fight the blue blues with a rhythm dictated by a cozy tumble. It was also the time when life’s little joys got a genuine chance to shine in the dim light. Hygge, a term romanticized everywhere else in the Nordics, rose to the pure survival ranks.

Hygge made us sit and flip through Netflix while popping vitamin D. It blew every cup of cocoa into the chocolate bacchanalia. Hygge made the hand of our beloved feel twice as warm. And it turned the kisses into anchors that never let us drift too far into the night. Hygge sent our asses skiing. And if none of that worked – believe me – chocolate always did.