Haustmánuður marked the true beginning of autumn, roughly from mid-September to mid-October. The days grew shorter, temperatures dropped, and the first frosts arrived. It was the month when the Norse people finished harvesting their crops and began preparing homes and granaries for the approaching winter. Everything revolved around survival: securing food, maintaining tools, and ensuring that livestock were safe and healthy before the harsh months ahead.

Culturally, Haustmánuður was a month of organisation and foresight, emphasising prudence and planning. While it was practical and work-focused, it also carried symbolic weight. By preparing well, communities ensured continuity and prosperity, reinforcing the belief that nature could be managed with foresight and skill. In folklore, creatures representing Haustmánuður would likely embody diligence, resourcefulness, and vigilance.

Gormánuður, roughly mid-October to mid-November, was the month of slaughter and preservation. Livestock were culled in preparation for winter, and meat was salted, smoked, or dried for long-term storage. This work was vital: without proper provisioning, communities risked running out of food before spring. The name itself reflects the grim practicality of the month, reminding people that survival depended on action and effort.

Beyond survival, Gormánuður carried ritual significance. Slaughtering animals was often accompanied by thanks to the gods or ancestral spirits, acknowledging that life was taken to sustain life. Creatures associated with this month might be stout, sturdy, and serious, symbolising labour, provision, and the sober necessity of autumn work. Mythically, Gormánuður embodies both practicality and the quiet, uncelebrated heroism of preparation.

Ýlir, mid-November to mid-December, marked the deepening of winter and the onset of the Yule season. Nights were long and cold, and communities gathered for feasting, dancing, and ritual celebrations. It was a time to honour ancestors, gods, and spirits, ensuring protection against the hardships of winter. Fun, chaotic, and at times slightly uncanny traditions were part of Ýlir, blending joy and superstition.

In folklore, Ýlir might be represented by a rare, layered creature, dancing through snowstorms in heavy clothing — playful but slightly unnerving. Symbolically, the month represents resilience and celebration amidst darkness, reminding people that even the harshest season has room for ritual, communal joy, and a touch of whimsy or terror.

Mörsugur, from mid-December to mid-January, is the harshest survival month, aptly named “Fat-Sucker.” Communities relied almost entirely on stored food, preserved meat, and fat reserves, as the nights were long and resources ran low. Every household had to ration carefully, making sure there was enough sustenance to endure the peak of winter.

Symbolically, Mörsugur represents resourcefulness and endurance, the struggle to survive midwinter’s grip. In folklore, a creature representing Mörsugur might be round, gluttonous, and slightly grotesque, embodying both the necessity of stored fat and the oppressive weight of survival. It captures the tension between sustenance and hunger, between comfort and desperation.

Þorri, mid-January to mid-February, marks the deepest and most brutal part of winter. It was during Þorri that communities celebrated Þorrablót, a ritual feast honouring winter survival, ancestors, and gods. Life depended on resilience and resourcefulness, and people paid homage to winter’s power while affirming their own endurance.

Folklore often personifies Þorri as a sturdy, commanding figure, representing the endurance, respect, and stoicism required to survive the harshest season. It is a month of ritualised strength: through food, feasting, and social cohesion, communities reaffirmed their connection to nature and to each other, facing winter’s trials together.

Gói, mid-February to mid-March, signals the first easing of winter’s grip. Days slowly lengthen, snow begins to melt, and the promise of spring emerges. Symbolically, it represents hope, renewal, and the anticipation of growth, reminding people that winter, however long, is not eternal.

Gói is often personified as a graceful female spirit, embodying the gentle arrival of spring. The month blends relief and optimism with the lingering hardships of winter, showing that survival is not only about endurance but also about hope and forward-looking care.

Einmánuður, mid-March to mid-April, is a transitional month bridging winter and summer. Farmers prepared fields, tended animals, and focused on small, careful tasks that set the stage for growth. Its name emphasises singularity and focus, the lone month before the flurry of summer work.

In folklore, Einmánuður could be represented as a cheeky, mischievous little creature, playful but practical, embodying adaptation, planning, and light-hearted resilience. It’s a reminder that careful preparation and attention to detail are essential before abundance returns.

Harpa, mid-April to mid-May, marks the awakening of land and life. Crops sprout, animals reproduce, and people resume more vigorous outdoor work. It’s a joyful, active month, full of growth, energy, and optimism.

Folklorically, Harpa might appear as a lively, small creature, adorned with leaves and early flowers, dancing across the fields. The month embodies renewal, vitality, and celebration of life, reflecting both practical agricultural activity and mythic symbolism of growth.

Skerpla, mid-May to mid-June, is late spring with unpredictable weather. Cold snaps, wind, and storms could still appear, testing crops and labourers alike. This month is critical for agriculture, planting, and early summer preparations.

Folklore often depicts Skerpla as a mischievous, capricious creature, reflecting the unpredictable, tricky energy of late spring weather. It embodies the idea that even in the brightening year, nature can be playful, challenging, and sharp.

Sólmánuður, mid-June to mid-July, represents the peak of summer, with the longest days and strongest sun. Communities traveled, hunted, and prepared for seasonal abundance. It’s a time of energy, strength, and opportunity.

The month could be personified as a radiant solar creature, bold, commanding, and full of warmth. Sólmánuður symbolizes power, growth, and vigor, reminding people to harness the season’s light and energy while the sun is strongest.

Heyannir, mid-July to mid-August, is intense summer labour, focused on gathering hay for winter fodder. It is physically demanding, requiring organisation and endurance to secure the community’s survival.

Folklorically, Heyannir might appear as a straw-based, playful creature, representing both hard work and whimsy. The month embodies practicality, preparation, and the joy of productive effort, blending the mundane with mythic imagination.

Tvímánuður, mid-August to mid-September, is the final harvest before autumn. Sometimes spanning two lunar cycles, it emphasises completion, cooperation, and readiness for winter. Communities collected the last crops, stored food, and finalised seasonal tasks.

In folklore, Tvímánuður could be represented as two thin, mischievous twin creatures, playful but attentive, symbolising partnership, completion, and readiness. The month is about celebrating productivity and ensuring survival as the year begins to turn toward autumn again.