Verdandi awakens with a lump in her throat—
only released by tears. While she wails,
her sister, Skuld, calls in Spirit
to hear Verdandi’s dream—

Carrying news of the imminent, asking Verdandi
to visit California once more. The endless enquiry
unfolds.

Will Aurora return at midnight as Skuld portends?
Is Julian, a peace warrior with fresh breath,
harbinger of a new breed?

Could Aurora’s glorious colors project the glowing,
pulsing arch luring an aspect of humanity
to a just end.

Is Aurora lit by the disturbed solar wind? Can mother
mountain lion hear us in our sacred vessel? Will she be in
concert with songs of praise for Mother Earth?

Shall we forever fear Her splendor? At two a.m.
Verdandi convened with her sisters, Urd and Skuld, in the cabin
inside the ship’s hull, asking for help from Spirit

To understand the dilemma the dream had put them in.
They closed their eyes in trust that total beauty, perfect
safety would encompass them. They disappeared—
no other humans could hang around.

The path was a stairway— with seven steps for future
generations. Walking up, Verdandi opened a violet door.
Inside was an atrium with a stream running through
lush green vegetation with violets.

A tiny rabbit laps at the water, takes a run for it once
he sees her. Verdandi hopes to see Mother Lion, but
hears a small frog whose croak then quells,
waits for a bird to land on her shoulder.

No deal. She senses a rustling at her left shoulder.
Mother Lion caresses her hair, ears, forehead.
Verdandi turns her head, makes spiraling motions
the lion loves.

Verdandi tells lion she believes in her, that she is the
matriarch of the land they both adore. She asks how to
make up for the messes she has made.

Lion sits on her haunches— conveys no more humans
can be born on or live on the land. “The ones who live
here can stay, but no guarantees— no safety on hand.
Know summer is coming dryness and heat will abound.

We and others need water. Make an altar. Set out water.
Keep cats away from birds anyway you can. Eat
vegetables grown in your garden. Avoid meat.
Take care of the trees. They help us breathe.

You may need to leave— so may we. Do so when you are called.
Verdandi listened, then asked, “What offering can
I make?” Mother Lion replied, “Be sure to place my image
on the altar in the labyrinth.”

Verdandi made a pledge. Verdandi caressed the lion
with words of deep thanks and praise. She watched
her leave the other side of the atrium into thin air and
disappear.

Verdandi retraced the violet portal, walks down seven
steps, and finds herself safe within the tall ship upon the
sea. In days past, the Samí people did not see heroes and
bravery in Aurora Borealis.

Instead, the spectacles were feared and respected. They
were bad omens thought to be souls of the dead. The
Samí did not speak of the lights, nor were they allowed to
tease them. Waving, whistling or singing under the lights

Alerted the Sami to their presence. Lights could reach
down, carry Samís skyward or slice off their heads. Now,
some Samís stay indoors during the lights. When Urd told
this to Verdandi and Skuld, they cried.

Will all balance be lost in beauty of the sight of
curvaceous Trondheim’s shores?

Will we fall down in Bodø to die in silent sighs? Is it that
close now but not time to end?

Our eyes were blurred and sticky when Aurora’s gentle
crackling could be heard by ears buried by wooly caps.

Could we be in collision with the ice? No, we heard the
distant hiss arise.

Should we laugh at the sound of star dust igniting a fiery
tinder of atmosphere? Perhaps it was an imitation of fire
burning Mother’s forests on Ersfjord’s holy ground?