The Writing

07 July, 2015

mountains

I am sitting here in a little cabin in Estes Park, listening to the rain fall. It has been so long since I've heard rain in a chimney. Or smelled wet evergreens. Or been in Acts of God storms in the mountains. I have done all of those things in the past two days.

Tomorrow, I get to go hiking and spend a little time in the tundra above treeline, which is my favorite place in the whole world (at least until I see Iceland, at which point I may have to re-evaluate). We may get very wet. That is okay. We have a fireplace in the cabin. We may also see wildlife, which is great! Except bears. I don't need to see a bear up close, please and thank you.

It's a cold, wet July, which is also awesome. While I confess I'd like to see my beloved Flatirons as I drive through Boulder, I am happier with the temps hovering in the 60s than up in the 90s. I can layer. Life is good.

As long as we get to the top of Trail Ridge before the AoG storms start up again, because we don't mess with alpine lightning.

The Eddas tell the story of the jötun Thjazi,  who was killed in one of Loki's shenanigans gone bad. His daughter, Ska∂i, a creature of snow, mountains, and cold, comes looking for vengeance. She is offered a husband as compensation for her father's death from among the Aesir and the Vanir. She wants to pick the man with the best looking feet. (Do we believe that? Feet? I think it's a euphemism.) She chooses Njord, who makes his home by the sea. Ska∂i  is of course from the mountains. The marriage has some issues, because the couple cannot decide where to live. Ska∂i dislikes the sea and the crying gulls. Njord, on the other hand, cannot stand the cold winds and the howling of wolves.

I came to the sea for Nous (who came for grad school). It had nothing to do with feet or compensation or bloodfeud (though grad school does share some other elements in common with Icelandic sagas). But I have not made friends with the gulls or the ocean. The air is too thick. The winds are too tame. And there is no tundra anywhere.

Screw Njord. Bring on the wolves and the winds and the snow.