Like Bilbo...

'I am old, Gandalf. I don't look it, but I'm beginning to feel it in my heart of hearts. Well-preserved, indeed!' he snorted. 'Why, I feel all thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean: like butter that has been scraped over too much bread. That can't be right. I need a change, or something.'

To be absolutely honest, I think that I've always been old. Growing up I was oft told by the Elders, "You have an old soul, son." "Something in the eyes," they'd say. But I much enjoyed their company and never really questioned what it was that they meant. Still, I loved sitting and listening to all their tales about the "good ol' days". How I desperately miss those folk. I only wish that we'd have had more... time. Maybe one day, we shall...

Truthfully, I guess that I've long hoped to be so much like Old Bilbo... sitting on the steps or around the hearth, smoking my pipe, telling stories of adventures to the young ones. And I always - always - quite liked the look of Gandalf's beard.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm ever going to make it there, though. And lately I'm starting to really - deeply - feel that stretched feeling that Bilbo speaks of. Oh so very many things to think about! So much to do... or that I'd like to do. And so my mind is preoccupied with thoughts going both backward and forward, here and there and everywhere, remaining - seemingly - in a constant state of disquiet. I guess, more so than anything else and especially of late, I feel keenly restless. And so I... wonder. I don't think that I can do anything else...

I often catch myself pondering over what it all could mean. Why is it that I feel this penetrating restlessness? What exactly is it that I need to do? Want to do? Where precisely is the Road heading off to? And toward what end? So very many questions...

Before Bilbo's journey could get underway, he had to leave something... something of the utmost importance: The Ring. I speculate upon what my own personal Ring is... and give serious thought to my letting go of it... questioning even if I could. And when and if it finally is revealed to me, will I choose to go through with setting it aside? Or will I claim it as my own, as Frodo did there at the Crack of Mount Doom, to the absolute edge of utter ruin? I hope that I can leave it, like Bilbo... and so move along down the Road unhindered.

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

I know, I know... I've used this bit before. Still... I long for the day when I'll be able to set aside whatever Ring it is that I bear and join with Bilbo in his 'walking song'. And then? To Rivendell, perhaps...

Namárië,
Lamar