In the Barrow

The seasons turn, the clock sets back, and I bleed.

Our Lord – my Lord – Freyr, enters the mound, sacrificed a tithe to Hel, for the winter, and as He descends, so do I.

The depression is a slow slide from mid-September, mind you, but with the time change, suddenly the sun sets an hour earlier, and the world makes less sense, and dresses feel weird, and I have to pick my battles a lot more carefully.

The things I need to do still happen, mind you, but the things I only want to do, not so much. There is still so much to do, and so little of me to go around. There’s always more. I’ll try to keep up. I’ll catch up with any fallen promises as I’m able, and pay the weregild for any I can’t keep.

Yesterday I bled for the Land, to help Her recover from the drought, to help Her absorb whatever water the stormy Child brings this winter. Today the sun set at 5:10pm. Next Saturday at 5:28am it will have been 37 years since I left my mother’s womb.

It just seems so dark right now. But the day is only a minute or two shorter than it was yesterday, I know. I’ll adjust.

Tomorrow I’ll hail my Ancestors.

Tonight, I’ll just rest in His cold arms, in the dark.