The Shire does not make a grand fuss over feelings; we prefer to show them in sensible portions — a second cup poured without asking, a shawl fetched before the chill is noticed. Still, the date on the calendar looked rather keen on the matter, so I tied a red ribbon about a little tin and set it near the hearth.
Inside were two small biscuits, baked into heart-shapes (a notion that felt faintly Tookish), and a note in my own hand: remember to be gentle. It struck me that kindness is very like a fire in Middle Earth: it may begin as one modest coal, but it warms more than the one who laid it.
As I watched the kettle send up its first pleasant steam, an old line returned to me — not as a scolding, but as a comfort: “If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.” The Road is always there, of course, but a warm room and a shared bite are also part of the tale.
Filed under: Middle Earth • Written at Bag End