In the unsettled air of the north, a storm is about to begin,
Blown south on the frantic bands of a fast building wind.
The clouds accumulate, darkening with ominous gloom,
Another winter storm, or the Fimbulvetr' s foretold doom ?
High in the atmosphere, in clouds unseen by the human eye,
Form tiny crystalline flakes from the moisture stored in the sky.
Each new snowflake born is unique in its shape and form,
Their weight makes them fall, blown by the great storm.
Their journey is a long one, as they flutter and fall,
A slight change in the wind makes them stutter and stall.
Like ash from a volcano, they head for the ground,
Falling like ghosts, they make not a sound.
Once on the surface they build and they grow,
Until it covers Mother Jord in a blanket of snow.
It clings to the branches of high mountain trees,
And blows into drifts in a swift valley breeze.
When the wind dies down, and the clouds slowly recede,
Sunna makes the snow melt, like a body that bleeds.
The vapors then rise to join the clouds in the sky,
To wait for northwinds, so they can once again fly.
Glenn Bergen, Copyright, 2013.
Go with Odin' s wisdom, Freyja' s love, and Thor' s protection !