Musings on the Sky

I sit on the branch of the Tree under a grey sky which shows small hints of clearing. I preen my feathers, and watch the sky for Huginn’s return. I could get lost in this sky. Perhaps Huginn has done so and forgotten his purpose. He will recall it eventually. The sky is heavy and dark, though it shows promise of brightness. The Tree has chosen to be here, in Midgard, for a span of days of its choosing. Perhaps Allfather knows. I have seen the sky after many a storm. The colors of the sky, the weight of the clouds, the glimpses of sun are always and never the same. I have flown into skies such as this, in search of prey, in search of some ephemeral thing I cannot define. I remember. Allfather fears a day when we will not return to him. We are bound to him for long upon long -- from the time before he gave up his eye and gained the wisdom of the runes (which gives him clearer vision than his eye ever did) till Ragnarok. I remember.

All the wisdom of the world, the knowledge of the Norns, the justice of Tyr, the Hammer of Thor cannot change what has been foretold. We wait. We enjoy our small pleasures. We see omens in the clouds, in the entrails of our prey, in the runes, in the bones. We watch the sky, the sun, the shimmers of light on still waters and hope against hope that honor will prevail. There are visions in the water, in the smoke, in the fire. I remember.

I watch the sky. I listen to the murmur of the Tree. I preen. I listen to the voices on the wind. For long upon long I have done these things. I will continue to do them. They are my work, my geas, and my life. I have my bonds with Allfather and my mate. We are some strange amalgam of shared experience, hopes, dreams, and fears. We are the eyes and ears of the All Father on Midgard. I often sit in trees. I rarely sit in the Tree. Yet we are in Midgard and the Tree does not seem to take offense. Huginn scouts. I scout. We hunt. Huginn brings word to Allfather. They examine, assess, and discuss the information. They think, they worry, and they plan.

I watch the sky. I see the colors and the clouds. They are beautiful as they have been and ever shall be. I wait through the storms, and enjoy their aftermath. I remember, for I am Muninn. I watch the sky for long upon long and I remember.


© December 2014 Cedar Wolfsinger (Michelle R. Owings-Christian)

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