23
Oct
I think, Frodo, that maybe you will not need to come back, unless you come very soon. For about this time of the year, when the leaves are gold before they fall, look for Bilbo in the woods of the Shire. I shall be with him. Elrond Half-elven, The Return of the King, J.R.R. Tolkien. Sometimes I wish there was a boat waiting for me in the Grey Havens and I could slip away down the long grey firth as the light I carry glimmers and is lost. Sailing far away until I behold “white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise.” Sometimes I wonder if that is the only peace I shall find.

I think, Frodo, that maybe you will not need to come back, unless you come very soon. For about this time of the year, when the leaves are gold before they fall, look for Bilbo in the woods of the Shire. I shall be with him.

Elrond Half-elven, The Return of the King, J.R.R. Tolkien.

Sometimes I wish there was a boat waiting for me in the Grey Havens and I could slip away down the long grey firth as the light I carry glimmers and is lost. Sailing far away until I behold “white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise.”

Sometimes I wonder if that is the only peace I shall find.

13 notes tolkien / J.R.R. Tolkien / JRR Tolkien / The Lord of the Rings / The Return of the King / Elrond / Frodo Baggins / The Grey Havens / Autumn / Trees / Leaves / not my photo / I have no idea whose photo it is /
9
May
As a teenager, I used to walk through these woods. They are part of the Lickey Hills in the south of the English West Midlands. They are the same woods that Tolkien walked through as a boy when he lived in Oratory House in the hamlet of Rednal, then part of Worcestershire. I would often head the three miles from home to there, my other home. I’d be clutching a ravished and crumpled copy of The Lord of the Rings and stay amongst the trees with the shades of Hobbits and Elves, Dwarves and Rangers whispering through the watchful woodland. I’d stay there all day and hardly notice as the sun swung grasping shadows around me before dragging dappled orange beams into the West. As twilight slipped stealthily into the wood, I’d head home with bats flitting around me guiding me through the spruce and pine trees. Those moments, those days, taught me that Solitude was a kind and gentle mistress and that her cruel sister Loneliness would hold no sway over me as long as there were books and woodlands, leafy sunsets, and tender twilights.

As a teenager, I used to walk through these woods. They are part of the Lickey Hills in the south of the English West Midlands. They are the same woods that Tolkien walked through as a boy when he lived in Oratory House in the hamlet of Rednal, then part of Worcestershire.

I would often head the three miles from home to there, my other home. I’d be clutching a ravished and crumpled copy of The Lord of the Rings and stay amongst the trees with the shades of Hobbits and Elves, Dwarves and Rangers whispering through the watchful woodland. I’d stay there all day and hardly notice as the sun swung grasping shadows around me before dragging dappled orange beams into the West. As twilight slipped stealthily into the wood, I’d head home with bats flitting around me guiding me through the spruce and pine trees.

Those moments, those days, taught me that Solitude was a kind and gentle mistress and that her cruel sister Loneliness would hold no sway over me as long as there were books and woodlands, leafy sunsets, and tender twilights.

21 notes Woods / Trees / Lickey Hills / Tolkien / J.R.R. Tolkien / JRR Tolkien / The Lord of the Rings /
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