Fall 2021

The Sperg Box

As Fall leaves us with Her dieing gasp for the year, we can feel the skies hollow. Quaint Summer sounds that seemed swallowed in the abyss of active live become torrential echoes. Steel grey skies begin to thwart the baby blue. Green becomes orange, orange becomes brown, and the browning means ever death.

The Cailleach comes down from her perch, as Brigid takes her Sun indoors to hunker down with the larder she’s spent the year preparing. And what a wonderful time she should have, while the rest of us take to the snow to harden our hearts and our hides. Fimbul shakes his fist and Surtur takes the bow. Ragnarøk is the everyman’s Calendar, but take heart, Ginunngagap is coming soon and Midgard will be ours again. Insert your own metaphor, but say what you will, the changing of the seasons is worth a pound of poetry to be…

View original post 945 more words

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.