All the events in the upper worlds
impact us here, though they’re petty there.
Mother Frau Holle is making her bed,
shaking her blankets, shaking them vigorously
and we get a blanket of the whitest snow.
The continual din of the day is tapered,
On October 20, the first snow accumulation of the season fell on Reykjavik. Then Eirik composed this verse:
Reykjavik’s snow rested on ground
an October morning autumnal delight.
Its fair flurries had fallen at night
on the sleeping city at sea-shore’s edge.
But the winter wonder, welcomed too soon,
had melted down in muddled drizzle,
with a likeness of memory left in waters
that the well of wyrd had away taken.
Copyright © 2014 Eirik Westcoat.
All rights reserved.
The Yule vacation for this blog has ended, and today I present a short poem in honor of Yule. It is in four stanzas of fornyrðislag. Its title is “A Yule Poem.”
Snow is falling,
on the ground gleaming
and giving delight.
But the Wild-Hunt rides,
when the cold-air