One day, standing on the shore of a
fitful sea,
I felt the presence of an old forgotten
god. The rough waters
invoked the latent memory of those
primal, violent gods;
the gods who made their anger known.
The rise and fall of each wave and
the ebb and flow of the salty water
proved a testament of their everlasting
power.
If you listened closely to the breeze
and the subtle voice hidden
within the sound of the splashing
waves,
the call of old Njord could be heard—
the call to set aside all trepidation
and set sail out into the cold unknown.
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