First Frost
I awoke full of wonder and awash wiþ glee
as softly đe snows did stream down
like a beautiful bounty brought from heaven,
caressiŋ đe country wiþ cold coatiŋs.
Ðe first of ðe frosts had fallen last night,
and ðe greenery gleamed wiþ gossamer light.
Winter had walked, wearily, into our hall
and I greeted it gladly, wiþ gusto and friþ.
My wonderful wife, wiþ her ways so fine,
outlasht, all livid and lush wiþ rage
at đe slow but steady snow's advance.
In her eyes our halls were haunted by a wicked
and felsome guest; ungrateful was my gal for ðis company.
I adore đe downiŋ of deep winter,
but she detests đe deposition đat dumps upon us.
Woe to poor winter, to wander to a hall
and find for feastiŋ a friend only one.
But, hm, perhaps my heart's delight
would have a higher happiness at winter
if her countenance, so cloyiŋly cold, wasn't? — Apprentice Chris Savich, Michigan, csavich@runestone.org
Tomorrow's Myth
Dunes of white, shimmering cold
Part of a cycle very old
The land is quiet, deep in slumber
The starclad nights inspire wonder
A year’s worth of work, now put to the test
The cold and the dark invite us to rest
Let’s gather together, and weave our frith
Today is our normal, tomorrow it’s myth
— Apprentice Erik Lugnet, Sweden, elugnet@runestone.org
Warmth. Wonder. Wassail.
Winter frost.
Hearthfire bright.
Wild winds call.
Yuletide night.
Óðinn rides, the Hunt begins,
Through shadowed woods and howling winds.
The longest night, the solstice near,
The sun returns, the path grows clear.
Family gathers, the cold held back,
By hearth and hall, where love won’t lack.
The boar’s head raised, oaths to proclaim,
With sacred words, we speak their names.
Julbok waits, a gift bestowed,
Krampus watches, debts are owed.
Traditions weave, both fierce and kind,
Through fire’s glow, the past we find.
Yule Log burns, its embers bright,
Shortening dark and lengthening light.
In winter’s grasp, joy holds its reign,
The sun will rise, life starts again.
Papa Yule, with wisdom’s hand,
Guides us through this frozen land.
Reflection deep, remembrance strong,
In virtue’s path, we all belong.
Yule marks the point of return,
Ásatrú we stay, as the seasons churn.
— Folkbuilder Nick Rice, Tennessee, nrice@runestone.org
~ From The Runestone of Thorshof District, December 2024 ~