Ritual of Rest After Labor

Grass is shorn, the field made clean,
Blade laid down, its duty seen.
Sweat to soil, breath to sky,
Work is done, the task passed by.
Now two weeks of stillness come,
Hearth is tended, spirit one.
Hands that toiled shall now be free,
To drink of peace, like leaf on tree.
Odin guard my mindful hours,
Freyja bless with gentle powers,
Thor keep storms and strife away,
While I in quiet strength shall stay.
I give thanks to land and breath,
To life, to toil, to hard-earned rest.
So let it be, the spell is cast—
My body heals, my spirit lasts.
The Gulls of Njörðr

One white-wing came,
a watcher of waves,
herald of hunger,
harbinger of gifts.
Then sudden storm-burst—
seven more soaring,
a circle of sky-born,
Njörðr’s swift kin.
Eight wings of omen,
eight paths unfolding,
like Sleipnir’s gallop
across sea and sand.
They smelled not sweetmeat,
but spirit’s intention,
the gift of the Gothi
laid forth with honor.
So the sea-father smiled,
the landvættir gathered,
and gull-cries carried
your prayer to the tide.
