How wonderful, this discovery of a new form of writing, frost-penned, readable only to numinous eyes, and not to us.

It was a grey winter’s morning in Jötunheim – ice over all the rivers, snow upon the mountains, rime-writing across the woods, weird hoar letters straggling over the bare branches of the trees, writing such as giants and gods can read, but men see it only as pearl-drops of the cold. 

As late summer slowly cools to autumn, I look forward to the first frost and mists and will see if I can read anything in rime. 

Source: A. and E. Keary, The Heroes of Asgard: Tales from Scandinavian Mythology, illus. by C. E. Brock (London: Macmillan, 1972 (1930)), p. 45

Photo credit: Ricky Rew at unsplash


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