VICTORY OF THE LIGHT: SIGRBLÓT, CERNUNNOS, AND THE CRICKET CLUB

aster is often viewed through a single lens, but history reveals a far more complex tapestry. It is a season of renewal and rebirth that predates modern practices by millennia. While some today may aggressively lay claim to these origins, there is room here for all faiths—and for those with none.

​I choose to honour the ancient archetypes: Cernunnos, the antlered lord of the wild, and the Green Man, the bringer of life emerging from the winter’s grip. For me, this transition isn't a single day, but a journey—starting at the first stirrings of Imbolc and stretching through to the height of spring. It is the 'Quickening' of the earth and the spirit alike.

To our Norse ancestors, this was the season of Sigrblót. It marked the third and final great sacrifice of the year, a celebration of 'Victory' as the summer half of the calendar began. They knew that to win the season, you had to start with intent.

Writing this in the wake of the clocks changing here in the UK, the shift feels literal. We have reclaimed an hour of light which gives us a sense of awakening—a literal expansion of the day that calls us out of the longhouse and back to the forge and the field.

This year, that awakening took a very practical form. We were honoured to take our beloved grandson, Atreus, to a kids’ Easter party at Conisbrough Cricket Club—the same ground where we celebrated Hallowe'en last year.

Watching him run, hunt for eggs, and navigate his first game of pass the parcel was a reminder that the 'return of life' isn't just a myth—it’s the boundless energy of the next generation.

By the time we returned him to his parents, he was exhausted, sleeping with the deep peace that only comes from a day fully lived.

As anyone tasked with maintenance knows, the gods of the hearth and the gods of the high winds are rarely in total agreement. My plans for the Easter Bank Holiday weekend have hit a snag. Following the damage detailed in my previous post, further issues have occurred, leaving two panels and a post in desperate need of replacement.

I reached an agreement with my neighbour to split the costs of materials 50-50, and those materials are scheduled to be delivered today. The intent is there, but Storm Dave is on the horizon. With a forecast promising gale-force winds, Njord—the god who governs the gale and the sea—has not been kind to my timeline. It is frustrating to finally have the time and the resources only to be held back by the elements, but part of my path is knowing when to strike and when to batten down the hatches. I’m not sure what the weekend holds yet; for now, I wait and see.

We do not fight the wind; we build to withstand it. When Njord breathes a storm upon the site, we use the delay to sharpen our tools and refine our plans. A fence built in a hurry is a fence that falls; a fence built in the right window stands for many years.

The spirit of the Urban Viking—and the occasional absurdity of navigating the modern world—lives on in my webcomic, Northman. 

You can read the latest chapter here: northman.kirt.me.uk

I’ll be sharing more of my journey and the daily reality of staying grounded in the modern world over on social media. Join in:

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