Sep 2021
Freya
Shield-Maiden, Lover
Sister, Mother
Embraces owing
Life unfolding
Blessings upon the fiery hearth
Tears above
Love below: relieve our toil
Darkness ebbing
Rhyme unending
Listen to my bold tale!
Freya
Red hair flowing
Sunlight growing
Rising upon the hill
A song of springtime
Complete this bold rhyme
Hear now my tale!
Set out into the dark forest with newly picked flowers for the hearth, grasped within a meager coat. Clutched in bare hands and protected against her chest from the cold wind which blew so insistent. She was not far from the village when she met a woman on the road.
"A penny for your thought? A purpose for your soul?”
“I do not think so.”
Mysterious crones on a lonely road.
“Perhaps mittens to keep an old woman’s hands warm?” scratched the voice of the Crone.
The girl who wished to be on her way produced one flower from her coat,
“May the thorns keep your hands warm as they do mine.”
Fresh blood dripping from the open wound,
the Crone graciously accepted the rose.
“For this trouble” she said “I will return a favor of my choosing...for you did not give me what I asked... I give a warning. You may not know of such things, but on this night, in these hills is a crone not unlike me. When she asks a favor of someone, and they do not give it to her...she takes them, then buries them in her garden to make the spring come faster. She always asks for that which cannot be given. The snow cover and the full moon coming will sneak night upon you. Wherever you are heading you must stay the night. For if you travel back you will surely lose your way and find yourself food for the flowers.”
The girl who had been taught to be polite even to witches nodded and replied,
"Thank you for your gift.”
She headed on her way not believing a word of what the old Crone said.
Still this dread loom is woven with defeat. Even for the gods who would keep us safe from evil, and guard us from death 'till the end of days was determined.
I say for us all in this song that after light had dropped, the first of the frost did melt.
Shield-Maiden, Lover
Sister, Mother
Embraces owing
Life unfolding
Blessings upon the fiery hearth
Tears above
Love below: relieve our toil
Darkness ebbing
Rhyme unending
Listen to my bold tale!
Freya
Red hair flowing
Sunlight growing
Rising upon the hill
A song of springtime
Complete this bold rhyme
Hear now my tale!
Set out into the dark forest with newly picked flowers for the hearth, grasped within a meager coat. Clutched in bare hands and protected against her chest from the cold wind which blew so insistent. She was not far from the village when she met a woman on the road.
"A penny for your thought? A purpose for your soul?”
“I do not think so.”
Mysterious crones on a lonely road.
“Perhaps mittens to keep an old woman’s hands warm?” scratched the voice of the Crone.
The girl who wished to be on her way produced one flower from her coat,
“May the thorns keep your hands warm as they do mine.”
Fresh blood dripping from the open wound,
the Crone graciously accepted the rose.
“For this trouble” she said “I will return a favor of my choosing...for you did not give me what I asked... I give a warning. You may not know of such things, but on this night, in these hills is a crone not unlike me. When she asks a favor of someone, and they do not give it to her...she takes them, then buries them in her garden to make the spring come faster. She always asks for that which cannot be given. The snow cover and the full moon coming will sneak night upon you. Wherever you are heading you must stay the night. For if you travel back you will surely lose your way and find yourself food for the flowers.”
The girl who had been taught to be polite even to witches nodded and replied,
"Thank you for your gift.”
She headed on her way not believing a word of what the old Crone said.
Still this dread loom is woven with defeat. Even for the gods who would keep us safe from evil, and guard us from death 'till the end of days was determined.
I say for us all in this song that after light had dropped, the first of the frost did melt.
