I will drift the forest behind blind eyes with her, just as she came, here on the new moon this morn. A new year, come ten days on the loom, rides her night tresses too. Time to wrap root and gather low, gather deep, and gather below. Gather, then, and keen no more.
If you knew me, you would understand — but I stand alone, unknown. I am wing and I am thorn, that is the best I can explain.
But when she comes, we gather: wrapping root and pricking low.
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as the nights slip
cauldron to stone
from wave to cold
we turn to the
turning within
spirits on the wander
gather 'round the flames
dancing, spinning, yearning
as they give to the
turning within
let all our debt burn away
as we turn to the
turning within
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tossing the tethers, ropes
tying to dock and pier
letting current carry away
adrift and slipping away
spinning in eddies away
never wanting to arrive
never to, never arrive
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our lady of crows
waits above the ford
will you bed her at river
should she bid you?
be she maiden or crone?
she waits on her lover,
our lady of crows
have you come to
collect waters issued of
our lady of crows?
to reap on the harvest,
as gifted bounty of
our lady of crows?
or have you come to
enjoin at frenzy and fury
of our lady of crows?
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i wait on dreams
of her fountainhead,
at her narrows standing
flow her water, oak & ash
hazel & blackthorn sharp,
at her narrows standing
wait upon gold & rust
for rime & without reason,
at her narrows standing
long the night i belong
set to slumber underground,
at her narrows standing
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Since deciding to take up reading at the end of August whenever I feel compelled to scroll on the internet, pick up a video game for distraction purposes, or give in to the statement, “I’m bored”, I’ve managed to knock out twelve books which amounts to what is just shy of 5000 pages, by Goodreads’ account. That includes an audiobook that I finished during that time (I include audiobooks as “reading”, because I largely listen to them while driving, and this one would only contribute about 300 pages to my total).
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shuffling off & cutting ties
gone to drift on pale winds
clutching at fragments only
to toss useless scraps away
4 u c —
i realize this coil lies barren &
there is only death & dream
this debt is beyond counting
and all that is left is
to serve out my time
i slip
an ophelia amongst the reeds
waiting for a mercy kiss
to set me free
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Humans and beasts are different species, but foxes are between humans and beasts. The dead and the living walk different roads, but foxes are between the dead and the living. Transcendents and monsters travel different paths, but foxes are between transcendents and monsters. Therefore one could say to meet a fox is strange; one could also say it is ordinary.
Human beings and physical objects belong to two different categories; fox-spirits stand somewhere between the two. The paths of light and darkness never converge: fox-spirits stand somewhere between the two. Immortals and demons go different ways; fox-spirits stand somewhere between the two.
~ Ji Yun, 1789, in Notebook from the Thatched Cottage of Close Scrutiny
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going back to ground
to wrap myself in earth
before the long cold falls
stone away blind
ravens shout greetings above
in the ancient oak tree
a single snowflake,
leaden skies
A poem prompted by a randomly selected Elder Futhark rune.
Today’s rune is thurisaz, which has several core translations: “thorn” or “giant”. The rune is often associated with pain or discomfort (often for an important transitional or transformative reason) or raw power that may be destructive. It is also considered protective, regenerative, and is frequently associated with women’s menstrual health.
Please visit my Elder Futhark pages at sceadugenga.com for additional interpretations of the runes based on multiple references and personal reflection.
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