Åsgårdsreien
(The Wild Hunt)

Loudly through air at night they haste,
An uproar on wild black horses!
As a storm the wild crowds travel by
With nothing but clouds for foothold.
Over the valleys, the woods and meadows -
Through darkness and weather, they never heed.
The traveler throws himself frightened to ground.
Listen... what clamor! It's the forces of Asgard!

I have very vivid dreams. Have ever since I can remember. And I treasure them, these gifts from the unconscious. Sometimes I can figure out what they mean. Sometimes I can't, at which point I simply sit back and enjoy them. I don't usually share them with anyone except Dennis, who thinks they are exceedingly strange and wierd and interesting. But after writing about Odin and his eight-legged horse Sleipnir and The Wild Hunt recently, I had a wild wild dream which I'll tell you about here--

Angry clouds were brewing above the house, and the wind was howling, tearing at the trees and the grass. The kids and I were inside, terrified, watching the storm through the windows. It had engulfed our ranch in wave after wave of steel gray wind and rain. I stood at the front door, horrified to look above and see Odin and his host of ghostly hunters in the clouds coming over the mesa. I was calling for the dogs, "Lila! Red", and they came running to me from someplace way out there in the churning dust. If those heelers would have had their tails, they'd have been tucked in between their hind legs. They scampered inside, whining and huddling around my legs. The kids hung behind me, clutching the hem of my cotton dress.

I was too afraid to try and make my way to the pasture, to see if the hunters had stolen my horses or not. I thought about them lifting my percheron horse Toby up high into the air and snatching him away from me. I though about how upset my daughter J. would be if they took Caprichosa away with them. But I didn't have the courage to leave the doorway.

Dennis, my husband, was suddenly there, seated in a convertible in the driveway, with his sunglasses on, and the wind whipping at his blonde hair. I called and called after him, yelling at him to come inside. But he didn't seem to hear me through the howling gale.

I stood there, watching the storm in helpless, terrified fascination, afraid for Dennis out there in the thick of it, afraid for the horses, for me, for the kids, not knowing what to do.

Do I know what it means? No. But it will give me something interesting to mull over while I'm doing the dishes.

I can begin to feel dismal in the dead of winter. Hemmed in. You know? Longing to ride a horse over the interesting geography we have here in Northern New Mexico. Heck, man, I'd settle for being able to walk outside without getting blown over by the howling winter wind. But that'll have to wait until spring.

I do enjoy exploring the inner geography. Mounting those Lewis and Clark type expeditions.

There's a whole country inside of each and every one of us. We are filled with vast plains and mountains and forests and oceans and stars.