It feels like an age since I have listened to the sounds that flutter in my ears, or watched the sights that glitter before mine eyes. In truth, it was perhaps just over a year, by Man's reckoning, that I last set foot upon the grass of Imladris. And yet, it always surprises me when I say as much to myself. Time has performed a cruel trick indeed. Soon, I will celebrate the day of my conception, over four hundred years ago. Four hundred years. And one lone year seems to have stretched just as much, if not longer.
It is quiet here, though. Peaceful. It is good. I need some time to reflect upon matters. I am sitting by the waterfall now, writing meaningless gibberish upon this very page. The river flows past in front of my feet, a frothy haze of white, preparing itself for its fall moments ahead. The trees are full and in their almost perpetual orange, or so it seems every time I visit. There is a giant pillar of rock before me as well, across the water, towering above and watching over the valley like an ancient sentinel. I wonder which was here first; rock or House? One is certainly as old as the other.
I wonder of the old days of Valinor sometimes too. What it was like. Sometimes I feel some connection to it. A pull. I wish to explore it. Hear its sounds. See its sights. Walk its roads. Does it have roads?
I could go there, if I wished. Leave. Mithlond is only a few days ride away. I could be on a boat by the ending of this week. Perhaps I should. There is only war and grief here.
And yet, I feel a pull to stay. This land is home. And I feel there is... more.
Curious.
