A Book by its Cover
- jan-u-wine
A wide,
green
gaze
holds mine
with certain,
sustained
directness.
It is not so dark
that I cannot see
crinkles
of what might
be laughter
by his eyes.
Or perhaps
it is only
patient
knowing
that waits there.
I am not certain
what day
this might be,
only
that the sky
is heavy with
clouds,
their heads
leaning upon the lip
of the Hill.
I walked
quite far
this morning…..
miles,
it seemed,
caught in dreams
upon the road.
Perhaps
it was not
so
far,
for I found
my rest
beneath a tree
I knew
of old…..
a tree around
whose ancient feet
Spring entwined
sweet tribute.
As if it were
an old friend,
my hand
embraced
its rough skin.
Almost
I can hear it
speaking to me,
in the calm way
I imagine trees
might have.
No doubt
it would like to know
what foolish errand,
peculiar to those
with feet,
took me so far away.
Someday,
when I have set down
roots
such as it has…..
someday
I shall tell it.
Quiet….
so
quiet
it is here,
hushed,
calm dark
caught
between its
crooked feet.
There is a hollow,
I remember,
a hollow
like a door
just where its roots
touch loamed earth.
Something
pulls
with echoing
softness
at my mind:
something
waits
beyond that door.
A book.
My
book.
My thumb
scores
a path
across its
blistered face,
my voice
finds itself
to read
aloud
into the waiting
ear
of the day.
How long
I stayed there,
caught
by the spell
of spun-silver
runes,
I cannot say.
And when, at last,
I had done,
and silence
crept
back beneath
the tree
and folded itself
about me,
I saw you,
form dark against the sky,
quite still
in the last shimmer of silk-grey light.
The small sickle of a new moon
gazes
through the rags of clouds
that crown the Hill…..
A star, bright as any dwarf-mined gem,
dances at His side.
It is cold upon the road
as we climb the Hill.
Home-cold.
Good cold.
I smile.
Do you know, Sam,
I am glad
to have found
that book,
I am gladder
still
that you
found
me
**with thanks to Mary for her help with the last verse, and her
never-ending love and care of this particular hobbit.
