A warm glow
There's something to be said about the warm glow a few stouts bring about. Copenhagen offers a fine selection of tasty beers. In fact, one can secure a tall cold can of one of a variety of Tuborgs in the 711 for two small coins any time of day, a refreshing accompaniment for a stroll along the canal, as swans glide and ducks duck their heads into the cold water, as one passes thickets of colorful berries where tiny birds swoop into hidden nests, and then looks up to follow the arrows of the graceful steeples, pointing into the infinity of galaxies. Of course astronomy was born here, the earth a given paradise.
What else is there?
The cold, wet afternoon closing, I wander into a lovely bar to rest my feet and to wind down. This one turns out a fine choice. The waiter brings a warmer for my chair. My view is a brick plaza featuring a meaty sculpture of shiny black nakedness and human strength, a perfect site for crowd-watching behind delicate dried hydrangeas and glossy holly and under the amber glow of electric bulbs.
I'll have another please.
Time to mosey back, everything more beautiful in that warm glow. More artistic. More alive.
