03 April 2015

I sit beside the fire and think

On this chilly, grey morning - at least in this part of Scotland - the weather seems to match my mood, a bit withdrawn and melancholic. I am reminded today of these words that J.R.R. Tolkien put into the mouth of the illustrious hobbit, Bilbo Baggins:
I sit beside the fire and think
of all that I have seen,
of meadow-flowers and butterflies
in summers that have been;

Of yellow leaves and gossamer
in autumns that there were,
with morning mist and silver sun
and wind upon my hair.

I sit beside the fire and think
of how the world will be
when winter comes without a spring
that I shall never see.

For still there are so many things
that I have never seen:
in every wood in every spring
there is a different green.

I sit beside the fire and think
of people long ago,
and people who will see a world
that I shall never know.

But all the while I sit and think
of times there were before,
I listen for returning feet
and voices at the door.
As he says these words in Frodo's presence, Bilbo seems to be both present and not to the younger hobbit. I feel a bit like this today, floating between two realities, if you will.

In addition to being Good Friday of the Lord's Passion, today is also the first anniversary of my grandmother's death. My thoughts, then, this morning are drifting between meditations on the sufferings of the Lord and memories of my grandma. I, too, am listening for voices at the door and the sound of returning feet.

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