So as I circled my home on Sunday between a dying Frigg, an injured Astrid, and a living Sigyn, Sif, and Skaði, so brain dead from lack of sleep that I completely forgot to watch the church live stream, unable to stop checking on everyone, there was a certain calm strength in my core because this was me being a woman, fully and completely. This was in a way part of my God-given earthly glory: attending birth and death. I raised Frigg from a baby. She was a day old when I got her, and I was determined to be there at her death. She was mine. My little, mortal soul to tend, and tend her I would through every step of her short life.

Instead of feeling like I’m also trapped in a cage, it’s given me a reason for my slow living. I need to go in and out today so that I can keep a close eye on the hens' location. I need to take this break so that they can run around a bit. I need to make sure I’m not gone all the time because these creatures depend on me. What I thought might be a hindrance has proven to be a liberty.