Hail, melted away, left water in the ground. Ripe for harvest, it became ice. The elusive river, finally conquered, brought to its knees in stillness. And the world, submerged in deep inaction, even the wolves are frozen solid. In the end, from that simple vision, water burst out in flight, again, resurrected by the Sun.
Born of water, at the song of the high lords, and the sign of the Bull. I understand:
Other gifts, taken for granted. A great master of the craft, to learn from. North star, guiding light. Steps taken in my stead, through my own journey, in an upward direction.
Not all is yet fulfilled, not all blessings are discovered. Of you I have the least, Berkana, precious little. Crumbs for a starving man. A home, turned on its head, Merkstave. A folk curse, that I am yet to break.
Today I work to be restored to my original, causeless state. Beyond the alignment of the vertebrae, a Homecoming of the soul.