blindness

Art by Arthur Rackham

The Mountain knows everything and one. But this word he has lost. 

I found his throne through forest afire and hound afoot. I outsang the Seer of Atlantis for the key to a door through Nowhere. I walked over sky and I swam through a sun. The Sidhe twisted me to North and South, but I kept my feet pointed to the morning’s sun. Night’s Hunger dogged my race to Backwards and back. I lost a hand to Fenrir and an eye to Wisdom and a cat to a rich mendicant from a dark alley in a blight town I hope you never see. I took a journey of a century to ask the Mountain the question.

The Mountain which handles the stars. The Cliff that nests the eagle. The Face that stands unreachable. The Howe that speaks in a thousand rivulets. The Tree that breathes us life. The Sky that carries the wind. It stands in judgment and elder rede. 

He has heard every whisper of man and every crackle of fire. He has sung every day to sleep after the first song. He has danced in the silence and prayed in the thunder. He has taught the hallows and frightened the fear-givers.

This mountain I asked the question what is 

And it answered, Ask the Moon.