There was no thunder and no lightning, but you can rest assured that Thor rode his chariot through Maine today, pulled by his two goats, Tanngrisnir (teeth barer) and Tanngnjóstr (teeth grinder). He smashed his terrible hammer, Mjölnir, everywhere he went! We all huddled in our homes in fear, listening to the smashing and snarling and grinding outside. We sat powerless, wondering what our fate would be.
The wind whipped up into a ferocious frenzy, with hands of steel that ripped at shingles and tore at shutters. Snow piled in huge drifts, smothering everything in its path, only to be whipped up yet again by the wind and dropped elsewhere. And all the while, that steely cold hand kept creeping down my chimney, threatening to put my fire out, laughing at my attempt to control my own environment.
Like leaves in a hurricane, all life trembles before the terrible storm. Leaves in a hurricane, waiting for Thor to finish relentlessly crushing his enemies, helpless in his path of monstrous destruction. If we are saved, if we live through it, if we make it to the other side, we rejoice in our good fortune and clever choices and divine favor. If we die, we are humbled and chastised by the power of Nature. All the while, the Norns spin their threads of fate and water the roots of Yggdrasil, the great tree of the world whose branches reach into the heavens and whose roots delve into the waters of the Underworld. And we think that we can bargain with that?
|Thor's hammer rips the shores of Maine!|