I struggle from my well of sorrow yet again as Frodo says
‘I’m glad you’re with me Sam. ‘
Bittersweet grief tears my heart
my jaw tightens with the effort to
protect my sorrow, to hold it tight, unwilling to share it.
The music moves me, enfolds me,
but this time it is different -
a segue of words appears, promising,
then Aragorn gently plucks Pippin’s brooch from the grass,
green leaf on green —
the journey starts.
The music rises and scenes flicker
blurred by tears and swiftly changing scenes
I cannot catch them all.
I see runners, diminished by the vast plains of Rohan,
pursuing the epic, aching, hopeless journey that we know
will lead friend to friend by unexpected paths .
though they know it not.
Aragorn, looks stern, kingly but not yet king
as he and Legolas, intent, intense, await the battle at Helm’s Deep.
Other impressions assault my senses:
Arwen, joyous, distraught - why does she lay down so?
And sad Galadriel - we can do no more for Frodo.
She stabs my heart - this quest will claim his life.
New faces appear, Eowyn, beautiful yet real, womanly,
determined yet torn, parrying steel with the one she cannot have;
Theoden, King, renewed and preparing to play his part
In this tapestry of events;
Grima Wormtongue, on the edges, vile and reviled,
with false master and true
As he servile, stands by sour Saruman;
And two young warriors, beautiful, noble, strong,
Eomer and Faramir.
Then Pippin lies against a gnarled rough barked tree
with kind eyes full of wisdom - Treebeard
I gasp with delight that he is right, just right!
Joy of joys, Gandalf, white, pure, strong, otherly appears
On Shadowfax, both glowing with luminescent beauty.
Ah, my Frodo, worn and grey, with heavy ring in hand,
stand deep in Mordor,
then with Sam crosses the Dead Marshes,
fire and water, nowhere to put each foot.
But what of Gollum?
Then he appears, creeping downward,
down the cliff, reaching, hissing, toward Frodo’s neck,
claiming his precious.
Oh, the voice: sibilant, whispering, chilling.
It is over. So quick. I cannot move.