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On this chilly, grey morning - at least in this part of Scotland - the weather seems to match my mood, a bit withdrawn and melancholic.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.