The crustfrozen snow made a sizzling, crackling sound as our skis cut through the thin surface. We had set our course direction Upper Glacier again. The ascent from this side of the lake was said to be a lot easier and less dreary than our long journey across the Lower Glacier.
The Husky Queens, Samoyed Knights and Shiba Pushers had made lunch camp up ahead. The view from up here was magic.
I stopped, shoved my poles in the snow, hung my lovikavantar on them as I took in the magic view over the valley below. The glittery frozen on the banks open in the centre river twirling towards High Lake. The reflection of the dancing shadows the soft, fresh snow made as it was being blown to and fro in the wind as if making music. The pines to one side, the cedar forest on the other. The pack of wolves leading us ahead – a mixture of White´s gracious, ancient tribe and Grey´s somewhat younger Rolling Stones style crowd.
I heard large wings flapping in the air. Who?
I knew Owl had to be up ahead with the wolves, and Raven?
Anytime there was any sort of food or drink to be prepared Raven was sure to be there first of all, I could hear him across the white landscape chattering in lunch camp.
A buzzard hawk almost landed in my face! I saw his eyes as surprised as mine as I was facing his claws on their way to touchdown. I swept my head to the side just in time.
”Jeeeeezessss!”, he settled in the snow next to my skis. ”You´ve got to get some other type of headgear! What you´re wearing looks strikingly like the top of a moss-covered old tree to a slightly sleepy hawk.”
”My apologies, sir”, I removed the beanie I´d recieved from Nisse years earlier. ”You mean this old thing?”
The buzzard nodded.
”It is actually quite nice I see now. Handcrafted by a true NisseMor I see. Not many of those around out in the open any more unfortunately”. He proceeded to fly up and post himself on the lovikavantar at the top of my skipoles.
”I´ve been sent by the matriarch of The Little People. The Nisse, the Vättar, The Moutain Dwarfs and The Silver Alves. It´s not wise to go jump through Ursa Major without the blessings and promises of these tribes, which I am bringing you as their messenger. ”It´s a quest of the soul” are their words.”
A quest of the soul?
Then and there I realized that my soul had started talking to me, as the poem which sprung out of my pen the day before finally made sense to me;
”Candlelight, chestnuts and pinecones
it is just you and me
Comfort, life, breath
Pineneedles, light, sacredness
in a way which makes me re-member
you came from a slope,
which was once me,
specks of atoms, of dust
you grew out of snow
It all just is.
We all just are.
you and me
are just dreams of traditions,
of what is and what is to come
You in my livingroom,
I in your forest.
It all blends,
in this moment
Let us sing,
let us be the charol.
Have you not always dreamed,
to be carried out on a chord,
to slide down a tune
echoing in to the wilderness
with nothing to stop you
Let us sing with the stars,
soak the light in to our hearts
Like the candles on your branches,
let us shine through the night
I hail thee
My roots are deeper than the mountain
My home is stronger than my heart
My soul echoes through eons
Take my hand,
carry me away
While remaining here,
taking in your light
Oh Christmastree, oh Christmastree
of Odins heart so strong
Oh , holy night.
Åh, helga natt.
– Cecilia Götherström, Dec 11th 2018