I felt a strangeness as I labored in the field
as if I were watched by a thousand eyes and
the Shire was a place of grand events through which the world might change.
And as I looked to calm blue skies it was as if the imagined horizon,
were filled with craggy peaks of treacherous mountains
and castles built of time-worn stone.
Preoccupied after the day's harvest of wheat,
I looked for solace at the bottom of a pond,
where I cast my line for shimmering prey.
But quiet contemplation turned to rapture as my mind
came again alive, with beautiful ships shining
sleek to far off shores, gleaming with starlight,
their sails filled with songs of tongues I did not know.
I caught nothing and settled for a plate and tankard
at a cozy tavern I was inclined to know.
The halflings and shirefolk about were host
to good talk and cheer and yet
I could not shake the thought of weary warriors breaking bread,
boots worn down by journeys and hearts heavy with news of battle far away.
When it rained that night it was to me as though the ceaseless
rap of drops upon the roof were the steps of horsemen,
armies called forth across the land to cut and reave.
The thunderclaps like the roar of an ancient titanic beast.
And the flash of lightning illuminated a sky filled with writhing
drakes, their teeth jagged like a saw.
Old Mam asked of my disquiet as we sat beside the fire,
and shook her head in silence as the coals warmed her
hands while I told her of my thoughts.
"You've too much mind for stories," she said, "Of the
children's tales of old man Gamgee or masters
Brandybuck and Took," and maybe she was right.
Whatever the world beyond the Shire, it must be wondrous
and wild, this I know. Whether the stories are false or true.
One day I will see it, and take that step that will be farthest step
into a life beyond hobbit holes and pipe smoke and
earth tilled good. Or perhaps I won't.
Maybe the knowing is good enough.