▲ Skógafoss, Iceland.
After Fenrir swallowed the sun last year, summer never came. Now he carries a saint’s bone to shield against evil and wraps himself in sheepskins to fend off the cold of the forlorn sea. His heart is as restless in his chest as an eel in a barrel.
Rowing east with a few caged birds, he recites again and again the seer’s words:
This entry is part of Jack Rusher’s archive, originally published January 3rd, 2014, in New York.