Odin, it is said, feared Huginn might not come back, and feared even more the loss of Muninn.
Odin sits on the bench and wonders if he let too many days go by without sharing lunch with the crows.
Today: some sort of coldcut sandwich. Some incarnation of pork.
Huginn comes from the word for thought, Muninn is associated with memory.
Odin thinks about his uncle, calling his (Odin’s) niece and nephew “little girl” and “little boy” because he had lost their names.
Odin thinks about trying to remember a word in the car on the way into town this morning, and making light of it with his daughter. He still can’t recall what the word was.
He curses and an elm tree bursts into flame.
It’s not much of a sandwich. Odin finishes it and some honey-roasted peanuts and walks back to his office.
Near the office is a crow, but it is the wrong one and flies to a nearby roof and caws.
Today, the weather is still.
Like the calm before a great storm, but the weatherwoman on television, the one who wears different shoes every day, mentioned only the possibility of drizzle.
Zero percent chance of Ragnarök, she said.
But you might want to take an umbrella, just in case.