I was surprised when the motor-car zipped along at high speed, opening up the Norwegian mountains like a semi-settled wilderness.This piece of frost after the continent, at this time has been a bold and vigorous, silver mist dressed up.Every grass, every tree, every lake, quietly hidden in some unknown place, all oozing silver and jewels after being salted with frost.Even the smoke-belching farm showed itself a frosty wine, intoxating the fir trees, and turning the sky a wine-red.

This winter in Norway, you are attracted, far from the nearby scenery.It was a forest emerging from the gentle undulating plains beneath the milky white sky.It is like a staff, with its Stoic, thick and light flying orange brown, string up the golden withered grass paved, down the hills, plowed the neat black land, as well as the red house green trees, as if playing a symphony, grand but not sparse slow melancholy, and will be light wind, leaving the white snow.

The Norwegian wood is more than just a forest. It hides your memories and expectations. It is the most beautiful scenery in your heart!

JEREMIAH

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