Wassail, traveler, and welcome to The Gable Grey -- a place of retreat, of renewal, and of resistance: a tree-shaded refuge in Dark Times. Now pass the threshold, and rest from journeys! For a cold wind is blowing; and here, if you wish, you may hear tidings of the world without...

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

When he had gone and passed again into the outer world...


I have passed into the outer world, the Grey World, and have come back alive to the Green! The realm of Babbits wore me down, but I bore it, and now I am back again to my little Naith, my green Angle between rivers of concrete and steel. The foxes still dance in the gloaming, Enea beckons, and my wife and daughter surround me with love. I am a lucky man; too often I forget it.
I think I shall return to the world of the Woodreeve tonight... I have some inkling how I shall proceed. Afterword I shall turn to the Fellowship again, and "The Mirror of Galadriel." I so enjoyed "Lorien"; the last line about Aragron brought a lump in my throat and a tear to my eye yesterday, knowing his fate, and Arwen's:
"...And taking Frodo's hand in his, he left the hill of Cerin Amroth and came there never again as a living man."
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Whiles carried o'er the iron road,
We hurry by some fair abode;
The garden bright amidst the hay,
The yellow wain upon the way,
The dining men, the wind that sweeps
Light locks from off the sun-sweet heaps --
The gable grey, the hoary roof,
Here now -- and now so far aloof.
How sorely then we long to stay
And midst its sweetness wear the day,
And 'neath its changing shadows sit,
And feel ourselves a part of it.
Such rest, such stay, I strove to win
With these same leaves that lie herein.

-- William Morris, from
"The Roots of the Mountains"