The harbinger of Beltane

Völva Vigga stared somberly without
seeing
the last full moon before Beltane.
She had to clean out her wintry abode
and welcome spring to hawthorn and
myrtle’s bloom.
Her highborn sister Sophia with wisdom
had reminded her gently; it was time!
Völva Vigga pondered pensively over
this odd winter enticed with war and
withering.
What was the meandering meaning
of it all?
Sophia had quietly mentioned Tuatha De
Danaran,
beloved goddess of the people on the
Emerald Isle
worshipped in far away India aeons ago.
Beltane is ceremoniously celebrated
on the verdant Celtic lands in our time
with dancing around maypoles on the eve,
festive nourishing sweet cakes to break up,
so all participants get a fair share of
the food
in honour of the Queen of the dim dusk.
“Drink and be merry ye genuine godlings”.
Water is so life giving, and April showers
conceive lustrous blooms for us to enjoy -
without water - our saliva would be dust.
Danae, daughter to king Acrisius donated
this essential element and herefore severely
suffered.
So royal Dana will reclaim her gift to the orb
unless she is passionately pacified.

How could Völva Vigga lend a hand
except rummage in her mythology
of elfin folk and Odin’s lore for aid?
The spit of the old Völuspa’s song of earth’s
demise
turned Vigga off like the war avowal rap chords,
“Lo and behold”, she muttered musingly:
There must be a wondrous way
to alert the folks of this little eyelet earth.
Humane humans have only one shot.
Yet persisting in at best indiscriminately
ignorance
or foul play of the resolute ruthlessness
at worst
mortals must muster some kind of
self-determination
against the evil forces in this earth’s economy.
Mayhap the indigenous inhabitants could use heroic holmgang
for their viciously war minding ways.
Taking battles out of the economical equation
would then require people to become more personable
and try and solve some of their mundane messes.
Using fantastic forces, now speculatingly spent
on might’s machinery and out-flowing oil,
and creating constructive customs to painstakingly pave
a real road to save this glowing and growing globe
would be what Völva Vigga will audibly advocate.
Alas, this celebrant knows that only by channeling change
can this world survive – for their own kind kins.
With early education about our planetary plight
and teaching tolerance vigorously
might the human hobgoblins hobnob with
Queen Danae at beautiful Beltane’s
dancing around the metamorphic maypole.
Vigga the Völva wondered as she watered
the moonlit myrtle and hazy hawthorn.

Remembered that she too was part of the
hearty whole vivacious Völva Vigga vowed
to plant a seed of a symphonic sycamore.
One day mayhap it would groovily grow
into a yearning Ygdrasil where birds nest
and beneath which people play.

At Beltane with the rain gone
in the full-bodied firelit moony twilight
Völva Vigga gazed gladly in awe
at the harbinger of the tiny green sprightly sprig.
Her faery face blessed by the misty glow
beamed a mild and buoyant smile.