Ever since i was a child i was frightened of wandering into the woods alone.
There were all kinds of darknesses between the gnarled tree trunks, and the tricksters hiding under a blanket of moss that covered the forest bed. I always had the feeling that i was a little girl in a H.C Andersen fairytale. The gloom of his depresses and the depth of his fantastical visions ever present in the Danish countryside that i grew up in. Life had lessons for me even then, and the innocence was always laced in a dim light of frightening events.
All my life i’ve believed in the legends of norse mythology.
Trolls eating rocks and all the bad little children. Having a house nisse to keep your home safe and Thor hammering mjölnir into the sky when he’s angry.
After all these years im glad those childish beliefs and thoughts have never left me. Still now, as i wander through the thicket of a forest and climb the crumpled stones — i think of those mountain kings, the big nosed trolls and the bad witches. I wonder what they’re doing and if they are with me on turtle island — or if they keep to the nordic scapes alone.
I wonder if i ran into a troll if he would speak in tongues.
In truth i contemplate if i am a viking alone on a vast continent of settlers, and thats all there is to it. I have no kinship and no ancestors here, but i believe that thor still pisses through the clouds when hes drunk — and that odin still watches over me when times are tough.
I am so thankful for my heritage, my history and where i come from.
An old country kid from danish farm country, blood of the vikings and ravens as my guardian angels.
This blog post is nothing special — just random ramblings to clear my mind.