10. April 6th, 1420
It is the first real day of Spring, warm and sunny, the early flowers bright and blooming, the birds busy and cheerful. As I sit at my writing desk, Sam comes to me-his Mallorn has bloomed in the Party Field. "Look, Master Frodo! It's flowered at last!"
I lay down my quill and he tips a fall of golden blossoms into my cupped hands. "A'nt they lovely, sir?" Sam says in awe. "And the smell of them! That's 'Lorien all over. I thought you might want them here on your desk. Doesn't it lift your heart somehow, sir?"
Sam, your dear face is so hopeful, so filled with sorrow and love. I cannot tell you how the chill of winter lingers within me. I am hollow as an old reed, I feel as if the wind could blow me away, and I thinknow that all your longing, all your kindness cannot fill me and make me whole.
"They're beautiful," I say, and how it gladdens me to see you smile at my pretense of delight. I lift the sweet petals to breathe in their scent: Clean and sharp, like the smell of salt or tears, like the sea.
(tbc...)
Written for Marigold's 16th (!) Story Challenge, where the challenge this time was to build a story around a weather-related starter sentence. The first line of this double-drabble was my starter.