[Lawtan]

I Have An Entry!

Username: Lawtan
Round (1, 2, or 3): 3
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The holidays for me have changed a good bit over the last few years. Whereas the time of year used to mean giving, and helping, and charity, the last few years have been uncertain at best. I've been ill the last 3 years during December, and so unable to do as much.
On a positive note, the winter season, by some old traditions, is supposed to be the time of telling old folklore. This, I have taken to heart, and I have shared stories I learned with people from October 31 to February 2. It is very beautiful to me, and to only tell such tales during that timespan keeps them somewhat special and memorable. It has developed my love of storytelling, and is one of the initial things that has helped me move out of depression.
As such, my avatar reflects the old Crone of Winter, Cailleach, carrying a book of lore and a fairy-dragon on her arm. Beneath her robes is a bundle of wood, collected for February 2 - where, if she collects enough firewood, she will keep Brigid locked away for a longer winter. A short winter would mean Cailleach overslept, and is unable to gather more firewood.

A poem I wrote, featuring Cailleach and Nanabhozo, the Ojibwe spring trickster.

"'O’ mighty crone of ancient lore,
Shall I sing you a tune?
For my people wished to honor,
One as fierce as you.'

A-huum, huu-huum

'O, Cailleach, what grand old strength,
You bear within your form,
You embrace all the graces of winter,
So pretty is your frostbitten hair
So nice it is, would you sit down,
I’d love to sing you some more.'

A-roar, ro-roar

'O, Cailleach, what’s this you say,
Your lids droop wth sleep,
Then allow me, fair crone,
To take you to your home,
A cave alone which could be warm,
In the face of eternal winter,
There, you may rest,
And collect your wood in an hour.'

A-oor, oo-oor

'What’s this, dear Cailleach,
You look far too pale and wan,
My people would not forgive me,
If you I let to stray,
Stay and rest and grow well again,
The wood will not move,
Let me play a lullaby for you-
I think it may sound similar,
So let me soothe you into sleep,
And make your worries for today be forgotten…'

So, the Trickster packed his flute,
And left the slumbering Crone,
And he, sun-child, headed west,
Back to his Long-house People."