Yggdrasil, the World Tree

A tiny shadow darts out from the highest branch. Its four feet grip the rough bark, and it races down the trunk so fast that the wind whistles past its ears. It runs and runs, past one stretch of bark after another, and still the trunk below shows no sign of ending. From the foot of the tree, no one can see the top. From the top, no one can clearly make out the foot.

The Norse people of long ago remembered that tree by a name: Yggdrasil. It was a giant ash tree, standing tall in the midst of all the worlds. It was so high that no god could measure it to the top, and its roots went so deep that no one knew where they ended. Around it and beneath its leaves lay many different worlds. The people of old counted nine in all. Among them were the world of the gods, the world of humans, and the world of the giants. And the little creature running so busily down the trunk is called Ratatosk. He is the most mischievous of all the creatures that live on this enormous tree.

Ratatosk has just set out from a place very high up. It is so high that the wind never stops blowing, and even the gods can hardly see the top of the tree. On the highest branch of Yggdrasil, in a stillness where only the wind can be heard, sits an eagle that knows everything that happens in the world. Right on that eagle's beak, a small hawk perches quietly. A little lower, the shade of another branch spreads out just above the great hall of the god Odin in Asgard. In the old tellings of the northern peoples, that branch is called the Peace Bough.

Ratatosk runs past the stretch of branches where four deer graze every day on the youngest leaves of the tree. Whenever the four deer shake their heads, drops of water caught on their antlers fall. They drop through layer after layer of leaves, all the way down to the ground. The legend says that those very drops are the rain that people watch from under their eaves, falling from a tree very far away.

The lower he goes, the wider the trunk becomes. At last, where it meets the ground, it splits into three enormous roots. Each one reaches in a different direction, like three roads leading to three separate worlds.

One root winds deep toward Jotunheim, the land of the giants. Right beside that root lies a well of clear water called the Well of Wisdom. Its surface is flat and still, like a gray mirror in the dark. Old Mimir the wise guards it day and night. The well holds all the knowledge of earth and sky.

Another root reaches down into Midgard, the world of humans. Then it goes on deeper still, all the way to the dwelling place of the dead. A dragon named Nidhogg lives there. Day after day he gnaws at the root, and the steady sound of his gnawing rises in the dark like slow breathing that never ends. But Yggdrasil has never fallen. Its roots stay firm, year after year, as if that gnawing were only a familiar sound of the forest, one that could never bring down a tree so great.

The third root reaches toward Asgard, the home of the gods. Beneath that root lies the Well of Urd. No one, not even the gods, is allowed to draw water from it to drink. Three goddesses called the Norns sit and guard that well for all time. Their names are Urd, Verdandi and Skuld. The eldest of the three has hair gone snow white. The second is still young and lovely. The youngest is so faint and shadowy that her shape can hardly be seen. The three of them know all that has passed, all that is happening at this very moment, and all that is still to come. Beside that well, two pure white swans glide quietly, day after day.

Every day, the three Norns draw the white water from the Well of Urd and pour it evenly over the roots of the tree. The old story says that it is thanks to their hands that Yggdrasil stays green and strong, even though it has stood there so long that no one can remember the day it began to grow.

As for Ratatosk, after his long run from the top of the tree to its foot, he stops right where the dragon Nidhogg is gnawing at the root. He whispers a taunt that the eagle at the top has just sent down. Nidhogg growls back. He tells the squirrel to hurry back up with an answer for the eagle. Ratatosk giggles with delight. Then he scrambles back up as fast as his legs can carry him and brings the reply all the way to the top. The next day he will run down again with a fresh taunt.

And so it goes, day after day. The little squirrel runs up and down without rest, carrying taunts back and forth between the treetop and the roots. High above, the eagle still keeps watch over the whole world. Deep below, Nidhogg still gnaws steadily at the root in the dark. In between, the three Norns still draw water every day and pour it over the roots of the oldest and greatest tree in all the worlds. And Yggdrasil, the world tree that stands in the midst of all the worlds, is standing there still. Overhead, its leaves rustle softly. Below its roots, the water of the Well of Urd trickles on. It has flowed since the very first day, and it has never once stopped.