Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
What Am I?
The ancestors loved to hone their wits on a good, gritty riddle, especially on long winter nights. (Words in winter are light, they say.) Here's one that occurred to me while out walking today.
Go ahead, kill me.
Break me in pieces;
see if I care.
In one winter's night,
I will make myself whole again,
heal all my hurts.
What am I?
Comments
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Wednesday, 14 March 2018
The picture is a clue.
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Wednesday, 14 March 2018Fractured? Or melting and reforming.
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Thursday, 15 March 2018Ice?
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Thursday, 15 March 2018
That's it. I was out early enough that what, during the day, had been puddles of melt-water, were still frozen smooth.
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Thursday, 15 March 2018
It's interesting that, according to the conventions of the riddle genre--as, for example, among the Old English riddles in the Exeter Book--supposedly "inanimate" objects speak in first person.
Is this just a literary convention, one wonders, or a hold-over from a world in which there was something less of a wall of separation between animate and "inanimate"?
"Things are people too," a friend of mine always used to say. -
Sunday, 18 March 2018
I love the riddles in the Exeter Book, this is my favorite:
https://youtu.be/AMrVhkq0954
Yes, I agree with your comments, borders on animism. -
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So what am I?