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 ever 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.
Excerpt: JRR Tolkien, Lord of the Rings
Image: Writer’s Cafe
Inky: I’ve spent the past month, handling paperwork, caring for my family members, siblings, and waiting for my dad’s truck to pull into the drive across the way. But it won’t. He won’t. He would be horrified to know of the wait. So pulling up my big girl panties, I sat down in front of my computer and forced myself to write a page. Tears streaming down my cheeks, but knowing he loved to read the things I wrote. So another page. Then another.
Tomorrow, there will be another page, or pages. Because living must continue either here, or somewhere else.
Give me a bit folks… My irreverence will gather it’s breath, and continue to march on. Just give me a bit.