#bugwords

Freya’s Fancy, Page 50.

COLUMBINE - AQUILEGIA VULGARIS

Flower meaning: Associated with love, fertility, fortitude, and courage.

Across the ocean, where the gray clouds hover and the land is carved from stone, where plateaus stretch as far as the eye can see and icy mountains command the view, that is where you will find this beauty. Thriving in the wetlands, and at the highest of altitudes, it weaves among the stars and the gods, for it is Freyas fancy, her bloom of choice. A flower of great standing among the Norse people, and a symbol of courage, allure, and love. After all love is the goddess Freyas currency and her motivation in all things. Always prepared for battle, she fights for the love of her people and chooses which warriors will frequent the halls of Valhalla, with her heart.

And like all deities at that time, she had her symbols: the cloak of hawk feathers which allowed the wearer to fly; the Brisingamen necklace, forged by the dwarves after she spent many nights in their company; and her beautiful chariot, drawn by two enormous blue cats, a gift from the god Thor.

It was no surprise that men and gods would present such treasures to her, for she was the most beautiful woman in all of the kingdoms. It was said that once you had gazed into her deep blue eyes, you would be unable to refuse her anything—a truth that she used to her advantage.

And so life was good for the goddess. She only had to smile and flutter her eyelashes to get what she wanted, but there was one thing that eluded her. Something that every goddess needs—a flower.

Freya sought a bloom which could represent everything she stood for, and that was the problem, for she was not simply a goddess of love.

Like any woman, she was a complex creature with many facets to her personality. While she could be incredibly romantic, and kindhearted, she was known for her passionate encounters and lusty appetites.

A being of great beauty, she would scrub up for battle wearing her armor and wielding a sword better than any man. She was aggressive, calculating, courageous in spirit, and imbued with a need for action, and a thirst for blood. Never one to back down from a fight, Freya's confidence was evident in every undertaking. To be fair, the Vikings were more than a little in awe of her. She was not one to suffer fools or those with an inflated ego and knew how to put anyone in their place.

And so finding a flower that could capture every part of her seemed an impossible task.

There were those who thought a Rose might be the ideal choice.

A flower of incomparable beauty, and a symbol of love, it was surely the perfect match for Freya who encompassed love in its many forms.

But while she liked the look of the bloom and its significance, it did not fit with her lust for life, or her feisty ways. When she held it in her hands, she felt nothing of the strength that flowed through her veins.

Others suggested the Harebell, with its delicate fluted blooms, resilient and pretty, but hardly a fitting icon for the most beautiful woman in the world. Freya needed a flower that was large and showy, a vibrant breathtaking bloom that could command attention. The Alpine Thistle was considered an option. Spiky, strong, and sturdy, surely this would be a match for the goddess, but again what it gained in resilience it lacked in overt charm. Nothing was quite right, and Freya despaired that she would never find a flower to embody her powers.

In desperation, she took to the skies. Donning her feathered cloak and flying with the power of a bird of prey, she dipped and swirled over the mountain tops, skimming the snowy peaks, and diving between the crevices. At least in the air she felt free and could rid her mind of the worry that she might never find her flower symbol. And it was then, in that moment of release when she had forgotten her plight, that she finally found what she was looking for.

There among the lofty heights, trembling in the chill of the breeze, it stood. Taller than any other, with a strong elegant stem and a flowerhead of the most vibrant violet and blue, a striking color combination to match, its chandelier shape. Nodding in respect to the goddess, the stunning bloom was all she could see amid the freezing mists, and so she swooped down to get a closer look. That's when she noticed the shape of the petals, and how they looked like an eagle's mighty claw.

"How unique, how mesmerizing! How can this flower be, in this of all places? It takes my breath away!"

Freya smiled, and in response the bloom seemed to grow in stature and color.

"It is a complicated flower for a complicated woman."

In that moment, she realized she had found her bloom, the flower that would be her symbol and would represent all of the many layers of her psyche. And it would be called aquilegia, "eagle" in Latin, a nod to its magnificence and the eagle's claw petals. But in her heart it would always be Freya's fancy, the captivating Columbine, a rare and complex beauty, just like her.

The Color of Snow, page 160.

SNOWDROP - GALANTHUS NIVALIS

Flower meaning: Associated with purity, hope, and rebirth.

At the beginning of time, when the world was nothing but a blank space and a colorless vista, there existed the elements. Wild and free, they roamed the Earth with the power to create and shape at will.

The wind was seamless, a thin sooty veil, that swept through the land scattering a gray dust over everything. The rain, which dropped from the sky in sheets of silver to form inky blue rivers, was perhaps the most colorful of them all, and soon evolved its own way of being. The sunshine, a product of the fiery orb that was the sun, couldn't help but develop a golden shimmer, and slowly and surely, the combination of water and heat and wind gusts to spread the seeds, made the plants and flowers grow.

Saplings became trees, and the muddy earth gave way to a carpet of the softest green. An abundance of flowers sprang forth, their rainbow shades sparkling like jewels amid the undergrowth.

At last the planet was coming to life, each tiny piece of nature adding depth and texture to the colorful canvas. But there was still one element that had failed to find a shade for itself. Cold and alone, it trudged soberly through hills and valleys leaving a pallid sludge behind, and the longer it searched for a hue to match its true nature the more disheartened and drab it became.

Eventually the element, called Snow, decided it needed some assistance.

Seeking refuge in a woodland meadow, it sank into the grass and with a heavy sigh said, "Please, help," to whoever might listen.

The trees and flowers shuffled closer to this pale ghost, and whispered

"What do you want us to do?"

Snow, weak from his travels, muttered, "I need a color of my own.

Would any of you give me your hue?"

This caused a commotion among the gathered flora.

"Give up our colors! We can't do that!"

"I am known for my indigo glow, said the tiny Lavender. "I could not give it up!"

"And my emerald green is a part of who I am," cried the Grass.

"My crimson petals are what make me special!" yelled the Poppy.

"Me too!" chimed the red Rose.

And so it went on, and poor Snow became downcast. Tiny rivulets of tears smeared his face, and he sank further into the ground. There was nothing he could do. He couldn't force the flowers to give up their hues for him. He couldn't steal their tints away in the night, for that was when they hid their beautiful faces. He sat, and he sagged under the weight of his own futility, and just when he thought that his days as an element were done, a tiny, delicate flower stepped forward and reached out a leafy frond.

"You can have my color" said the Snowdrop in a small voice. "I will gladly give it, if it helps."

Snow, who was slowly beginning to melt, sat up and looked at the drooping tubular bloom. Such a pretty little flower and so selfless. The offer was beyond kind, and it instantly restored hope within his icy heart.

"You would sacrifice your color just for me?"

The Snowdrop quivered, "If it would make you happy, sir." Slowly and steadily, Snow began to retain form and shape, pulling

himself back from the landscape.

"What an honor" he said. "Your kindness has given me an idea! Why don't we share the color? You and I both could use it, and it will be a way of recognizing each other."

The Snowdrop nodded in the breeze.

"And to show my gratitude little flower, I will let you bloom at the end of winter, and you will be protected from the snow that I bring, and the frosty mornings that I leave behind. You will thrive in the cold air, and the ice that accompanies my showers will never dull your petals." Snow paused. "And because you have restored the hope in my heart, you will be forever associated with new beginnings, and the coming of spring. We will be siblings, sharing the purest white hue, and our name will be recognized by all humans, and they will smile when they see us." The Snowdrop swayed with joy, "How can I thank you for this honor?" But Snow was already gone, climbing the hill with a renewed vigour to his gait. His newly found color had settled about his shoulders, and it suited him well. The gleaming whiteness sparkled in the last rays of the day's sunshine, and it looked more resplendent than any of the rainbow shades. The other flowers watched him go, and while they were glad to feel the cool weight of his personality lift from the land, they also looked on with regret. If only they had been as generous as little Snowdrop, they too might have become the herald of spring. As it was, they would always follow Snowdrop's gentle footsteps into each new year.