I sailed away to Norway to converse with trolls and the shades of Vikings, returning to heat and bugs and suddenly the mystery of flowers opening (and closing) through the long days and star-filled nights. And now it’s over….the pumpkins are wearing crooked smiles carved into their smooth orange faces. Where does it go? The birds are less in my garden. My hopes are downsizing for winter. It is the same movement of a continuing symphony that is never lost.
This summer the hammering you hear may be someone building a boat without a shoreline in sight. It’s been a wet month with waterfalls down the steps to our back garden. While the green is deep, so is the mud and water. Global warming is one thing, but now we have global storming! The birds are hard put to catch the floating birdseed in their beaks. Noah was warmed by wine as he made his own proto-biosphere. I pour the red wine and look out the window. We have doves galore without olive branches in their caws.
Thinking of the Norse Gods while traveling in Norway it seemed to make perfect sense that the world must come to an end someday, even the gods themselves. The further north one goes one sees the harshness that man must overcome to live there with a year sliced half in darkness and half in light. Maybe even the deities that guide such a world must succumb at some point.
Odin gave an eye for wisdom. He had to sacrifice total sight. His daughter, Brunnhilde, gave up her freedom for the compassion she felt. She languished for centuries in a ring of fire. Sacrifice was part of the story for every one, god , goddess or human.
We know the sun will not sustain us forever. Or the land. Or the hatreds we engender with each other to make battle. We are flawed as these Norse gods were flawed. Let us enjoy what we can, and leave the goodness here when we must leave.
Gotterdammerung. Judgment Day. Whatever you call it, it’s part of the story.
Trolls are not beautiful in conventional ways. Traveling up to Norway I saw their many images a-new. They had tails, they had scales, they had warts and very big feet and fingers . Their hair was askew. But they had a look in their eyes of amusement with the world around them, even through a squint. That’s what I saw in images of trolls. They could be good or bad, loyal or mendacious. Sometimes they had kingdoms and sometimes they were loners in the forest. And people there just loved them in all their manifestations. So here’s to trolls! Beauty comes in many forms….and many sizes….and many stories.
So many of us are worried about the children who have been removed from a family setting to linger in cages, tents,, etc. for the sake of something less than a law and more of a whim on the part of people who don’t know these young hearts and minds.
Childhood is a fragile time when we form our impressions of each other and ourselves. Being ripped away and locked away by strangers does not bode well for a healthy feeling about the world.
I had a rocky emotional childhood, but was never lost in the limbo of a day to day existence in a strange country with strangers. When Jesus said:”Suffer the little children to come unto me” he meant in trust and love.
Often Death is portrayed as a beautiful passage. Going towards the light is leaving darkness behind. In movies it involves final confessions, resolutions, and a music underlies it. We who have lived on this earth in all its posturings know that is not the case. Death is sad, messy, best avoided. Anthony Bourdain must have figured this out long ago. He often looked life fairly and squarely in the face. Why not hang around for the next round of wine and cheese on a sunny afternoon? He’s not here to tell us, but still we ask the question.
Summer is painted in all the shades of green here. We live in a verdant reality, closed in and touched everywhere as leaves and grasses and the start of the things that spring unbidden along the trail of summer. Green is supposed to be a calming color, but once it starts it takes on a vibrancy that drives away any thoughts of passivity. We are off on the chase for so much before the green vanishes into brown and even the solemn white of snow. We are tickled by the landscape and prodded to contribute to the rush to bloom before it is taken away.