Disclaimer: J.R.R. Tolkien owns The Lord of the Rings. Peter Jackson owns
the movies. But I successfully haggled with Elijah Wood over the rights to
Frodo. Yes indeed, sexual favors were involved.
Day Four:
I'm writing tonight by the light of the full moon. Lucy wants me to go inside but I won't yet. The sky is cloudless and diamond-studded, and I need a few more moments with it.
I'm sitting on one of two benches in our front garden, and before me I can see our beds of flowers, each leaf and petal edged in silver. To the left is our little greenhouse, where we keep flowers blooming all through the winter. Below our garden, and winding off to the right, is the road, and I can see our neighbors' holes, nestled under blankets of earth. Their windows are lit by warm hearth fires within, for it is not yet very late. Further along, I can see where our road intersects with Bagshot Row, which is an even more winding road. I believe Lucy and I are invited to the Gamgees' for tea tomorrow but I will have to ask her about that when I go in, as I may be mistaken.
Soft and light, silver and white, moonbeams kiss the earth tonight.
Oh, that's awful. I should like to be able to write real poetry. Mr. Baggins' uncle Bilbo was known for his great lyrical abilities, I believe. Well, he was also known for being mad, so perhaps I cannot expect too much of my writing since I am quite sane.
Yet I feel so muddled lately. I feel as though something is not quite right in my life, but I cannot think what it might be. And I spend so much of my time just thinking about questions that I cannot possibly answer. Such as..Are primroses prettier than nasturtians? Does Judd like Holly Dalrymple better than me? Are the stars above me really spirits? Is writing a waste of my time? Why am I here?
Day Five:
Well, I don't know what to think! I stepped outside this morning to plant the iris bulbs for next spring and what did I see on the very bench I was sitting on until late last night? A single creamy white nasturtian lay there with a little paper card tied onto its stem with red ribbon. "To Emma," it read in golden ink. "I think this one missed you."
There was no signature so I ran inside again and asked Lucy if she knew who had left it. She looked as surprised and confused as I was. She asked me whom I had sold my nasturtians to the other day, and I scowled, knowing I couldn't possibly remember them all.
"I know I didn't sell any to Nat, and he's the only person I can imagine giving me a flower."
"Well, Nat's handwriting isn't this neat anyway," Lucy mused, examining the card. "And he wouldn't have written this."
I nodded. "'Have a flower.' That would be Nat's inscription."
Lucy smiled then. "Maybe it's from Judd!"
I feigned swooning and we both laughed. "I haven't sold Judd a flower in months."
We told the whole story over tea to everyone at Bag End, and Elanor was so cute running on about a secret admirer and such. Mr. and Mrs. Gamgee and Mr. Baggins listened with interest to all theories concerning the mysterious sender and proposed a few of their own, none of which were plausible in the least. But the conversation was very amusing and everyone laughed a great deal and ate even more, so it was a very pleasant tea.
And now I am exhausted with thinking about who could have sent this flower to me. I have put it in a crystal vase right here on the table next to my bed. Now it is time to sleep.
Day Six:
The market was very crowded today. I suppose people are just eager to buy now when the harvest is in full swing. Ruthie Hornblower and I met there and wandered around for a while. I bought all the things Lucy needed for dinner tonight, to which I invited Ruthie, and I bought a bracelet too for myself.
Of course I told Ruthie all about the flower, but she didn't have any more idea than I who sent it. We did get onto the subject of boys though, about which Ruthie usually has little to say. She asked me who, in my opinion, were the three most handsome hobbits I knew.
"Mr. Judd Bracegirdle is first," I said without hesitation. Ruthie nodded, as though that was a given, which it was. "Then, I suppose, maybe Elliot Drury, you know, Gus' younger brother..And I don't know, Pendleton Proudfoot," I finished.
Ruthie laughed. "Pendleton? But his ears!"
I dismissed her mockery. "He's cute. There. I have spoken. Now, Miss Ruthie, which three gentlehobbits do you most fancy?"
Ruthie sighed. "Elliot Drury is my first," she said. "Then Nat, who worships the ground you walk on, of course. And..I can't tell you the third one."
"No? Why not?"
"Because you'll definitely laugh at me," she answered, growing pink.
"Of course I won't, Ruthie," I said putting an arm around her shoulder. "We're best friends, and we both agreed long ago that boys were silly and we would never marry but just be happy old maids together. You don't think I'm really interested in Pen Proudfoot, do you? Come now, out with it."
She giggled. "Alright then, but promise not to laugh?" I promised. Ruthie took a deep breath. "It's Mr. Baggins," she whispered. I nearly choked trying to restrain myself!
Reviews welcome
Day Four:
I'm writing tonight by the light of the full moon. Lucy wants me to go inside but I won't yet. The sky is cloudless and diamond-studded, and I need a few more moments with it.
I'm sitting on one of two benches in our front garden, and before me I can see our beds of flowers, each leaf and petal edged in silver. To the left is our little greenhouse, where we keep flowers blooming all through the winter. Below our garden, and winding off to the right, is the road, and I can see our neighbors' holes, nestled under blankets of earth. Their windows are lit by warm hearth fires within, for it is not yet very late. Further along, I can see where our road intersects with Bagshot Row, which is an even more winding road. I believe Lucy and I are invited to the Gamgees' for tea tomorrow but I will have to ask her about that when I go in, as I may be mistaken.
Soft and light, silver and white, moonbeams kiss the earth tonight.
Oh, that's awful. I should like to be able to write real poetry. Mr. Baggins' uncle Bilbo was known for his great lyrical abilities, I believe. Well, he was also known for being mad, so perhaps I cannot expect too much of my writing since I am quite sane.
Yet I feel so muddled lately. I feel as though something is not quite right in my life, but I cannot think what it might be. And I spend so much of my time just thinking about questions that I cannot possibly answer. Such as..Are primroses prettier than nasturtians? Does Judd like Holly Dalrymple better than me? Are the stars above me really spirits? Is writing a waste of my time? Why am I here?
Day Five:
Well, I don't know what to think! I stepped outside this morning to plant the iris bulbs for next spring and what did I see on the very bench I was sitting on until late last night? A single creamy white nasturtian lay there with a little paper card tied onto its stem with red ribbon. "To Emma," it read in golden ink. "I think this one missed you."
There was no signature so I ran inside again and asked Lucy if she knew who had left it. She looked as surprised and confused as I was. She asked me whom I had sold my nasturtians to the other day, and I scowled, knowing I couldn't possibly remember them all.
"I know I didn't sell any to Nat, and he's the only person I can imagine giving me a flower."
"Well, Nat's handwriting isn't this neat anyway," Lucy mused, examining the card. "And he wouldn't have written this."
I nodded. "'Have a flower.' That would be Nat's inscription."
Lucy smiled then. "Maybe it's from Judd!"
I feigned swooning and we both laughed. "I haven't sold Judd a flower in months."
We told the whole story over tea to everyone at Bag End, and Elanor was so cute running on about a secret admirer and such. Mr. and Mrs. Gamgee and Mr. Baggins listened with interest to all theories concerning the mysterious sender and proposed a few of their own, none of which were plausible in the least. But the conversation was very amusing and everyone laughed a great deal and ate even more, so it was a very pleasant tea.
And now I am exhausted with thinking about who could have sent this flower to me. I have put it in a crystal vase right here on the table next to my bed. Now it is time to sleep.
Day Six:
The market was very crowded today. I suppose people are just eager to buy now when the harvest is in full swing. Ruthie Hornblower and I met there and wandered around for a while. I bought all the things Lucy needed for dinner tonight, to which I invited Ruthie, and I bought a bracelet too for myself.
Of course I told Ruthie all about the flower, but she didn't have any more idea than I who sent it. We did get onto the subject of boys though, about which Ruthie usually has little to say. She asked me who, in my opinion, were the three most handsome hobbits I knew.
"Mr. Judd Bracegirdle is first," I said without hesitation. Ruthie nodded, as though that was a given, which it was. "Then, I suppose, maybe Elliot Drury, you know, Gus' younger brother..And I don't know, Pendleton Proudfoot," I finished.
Ruthie laughed. "Pendleton? But his ears!"
I dismissed her mockery. "He's cute. There. I have spoken. Now, Miss Ruthie, which three gentlehobbits do you most fancy?"
Ruthie sighed. "Elliot Drury is my first," she said. "Then Nat, who worships the ground you walk on, of course. And..I can't tell you the third one."
"No? Why not?"
"Because you'll definitely laugh at me," she answered, growing pink.
"Of course I won't, Ruthie," I said putting an arm around her shoulder. "We're best friends, and we both agreed long ago that boys were silly and we would never marry but just be happy old maids together. You don't think I'm really interested in Pen Proudfoot, do you? Come now, out with it."
She giggled. "Alright then, but promise not to laugh?" I promised. Ruthie took a deep breath. "It's Mr. Baggins," she whispered. I nearly choked trying to restrain myself!
Reviews welcome