Elder Futhark
Sowilo is the sun, and the poems treat it as an instrument rather than a blessing. The Old English stanza gives it to sailors crossing open water with no coastline in sight; the Icelandic calls it the lifelong sorrow of ice. This week carries both senses. Something that was frozen in place starts to move, and at the same time a reference point becomes clear enough to steer by. The second matters more. If you have been weighing a decision against several shifting considerations, find the one that does not shift and set your heading by it. Let the rest be weather. Sowilo does not say the week ends in success. It says you can see well enough to hold a course, and holding it for seven days is the work.