On this chilly, grey morning - at least in this part of Scotland - the weather seems to match my mood, a bit withdrawn and melancholic.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 thinkof all that I have seen,of meadow-flowers and butterfliesin summers that have been;Of yellow leaves and gossamerin autumns that there were,with morning mist and silver sunand wind upon my hair.I sit beside the fire and thinkof how the world will bewhen winter comes without a springthat I shall never see.For still there are so many thingsthat I have never seen:in every wood in every springthere is a different green.I sit beside the fire and thinkof people long ago,and people who will see a worldthat I shall never know.But all the while I sit and thinkof times there were before,I listen for returning feetand 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.