A great quantity of rain fell here the other day. (Accompanied by an apocalyptic lightning show and enough deafening thunder that I spent most of the evening nervously peering about. I am not overly fond of my rumbly brother Thor. Fortunately, he did not show up.)
The next day, Sigyn and I were able to go out and play in the puddles. If there is an age at which one is too old to enjoy stomping about in shallow water, neither of us seems to have reached it.
I have ventured out again today in search of the perfect place for my meeting with Sigyn. “Meeting” seems such a feeble word for something so important. “Rendezvous” seems rather intimate for two people who are getting to know one another (although I am already sure she is my life’s mate.) “Tryst” implies sneaking and doesn’t really apply, since I think by now everyone knows. “Appointment” is too dry and “assignation” has connotations of illicitness. You may be sure that in this, if in nothing else, my intentions are honorable.
Fountains! Fountains are nice, and their splashing provides a bit of privacy for conversation. However, this site is a bit exposed and windy. I have been blown over twice while examining them, and the over-spray is a real consideration.
Ah… What is this? What a stupendous oak! See how it dwarfs even my mighty self! Surely this is a relative, perhaps even a direct scion, of Yggdrasil. Even better!–the human female informs me that this tree is a courting tree. Couples who venture under it are sure to be wed. Here! Here we shall meet!
I must go prepare a fitting repast and find some flowers.*
* No. I am not skipping. Loki, the Norse God of Mischief, does not skip. I am merely hastening in a happy fashion.