In Hagalaz


It was a frozen seed of life,
a hachel, a hail, a whole Hella good.
It killed us en masse
all winter long.
It transformed us, made us see–
a hailstorm of refining fire.
It took the water of life
isolating us like prisoners
to make us care.
It was a cry from Erda,
the frozen tears of Odin,
that poured into our souls.
Now there’s a call to Skuld,
to what shall be,
to what we shall be.
We rip at our flesh in sacrifice
for each oil spill, each plastic bag.
We are in Hagalaz,
a frozen labyrinth of transformation.

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