Kenning...

...Kind of H to step into the breach. Still here - or thereabouts.

As suitable distraction from the difficult days ahead, a few hours of early Spring gardening today has me reflecting on kenning and kennings.

A fine poetic conceit of early Western literature akin to the marvellous 'One Song To The Tune Of Another' game - see Humphrey Littleton passim.

'Whale-road' for sea, 'blood-worm' for sword, or 'spear-din' for battle. That sort of thing.

Generally, it must be said, somewhat too bloodthirsty (a modern kenning in its own right of course!) for our refined tastes; as the scops - or minstrels - tended to concentrate their efforts on crowd-pleasers (ditto) which - the crowd mainly comprising warriors - were mostly of the derring-do, derring-done of war variety.

Having spent just too many hours today seeking to cleanse the front lawn - which suffers terribly from the eternal shade of over-hanging trees - from its winter coating, I can say that these scop fellows missed a trick in not turning their attention and songs to more peaceful pastimes as gardening.

Behold therefore, I give you a new and precisely tuned kenning: 'moss-breeder' for lawn!