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~ By Courtesy of Others ~

 

Frigga

The quiet world of the weaver is here
And the great salt smell of the sea marsh.
What shall I put my hand to?
In this great order of quiet making.

The messenger comes, stalking by haughty
The healer with her basket,
The lady of stories,
The one whose gesture is silence,
Whose glance informs.

Best, standing with her spindle
Like the great white heron, waiting
For prey in the sea-white sound,
Best is Frigga, with her wide eyes
And few words. With the smile
Of the loved wife of a trickster
Who knows a few tricks of her own.

Her gaze is like coming home.
Her words are of lavish hospitality,
Of making
Something where nothing was,
Of the defiance of disorder and chaos.
Never think she is weaponless
Whose smile is for Odin
Whose knowledge
Is kept in quiet.

Hilary Ayer

 

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