The Disappearing Hagalaz

Hagalaz - Poem One - Veiðimenn Fókusar

Hagalaz: The Disappearing

The cold bites through my wool. I press my thumb to the frost on the bark.

The elders stay by the hearth. They speak of the quiet woods. They do not hear the pounding in my chest. It is louder than the winter wind.

I cross the fire line. I leave the village behind.

The snow is deep. My boots crush the ice. Hunger pulls me forward. I am only breath and bone.

I reach the tree line. The sky is dead white. The pines are black iron.

Ravens circle above. They watch the hunt. They wait for the kill.

I see the shape in the mist. It is heavy and still.

I draw the string. The tension cuts my fingers. My arm locks. I hold my breath. I am ready.

The mist moves. The shape shifts.

My hand waits to loose the string. The release never comes. The shape dissolves before my fingers can know it. It scatters in the cold glow of the dawn.

I lower the bow. The string slaps my wrist. There is no blood on the snow. There is no snapped twig.

I walk to the empty shadow. Nothing is there. The forest keeps its secret.

A wind drops from the pines. It hits my chest. It feels older than my father. It is older than the feast and the death.

It passes through my ribs. It leaves a weight I cannot see. It strips my name away.

I stand in the cold. My hands are empty. The dark speaks my shame back to me.

I am changed. I am the same. I am still hungry.