I found a small brass button in my workbox this morning — the sort that looks quite ordinary until you imagine a whole day trying to get along without it. In Middle Earth, it is often the little things that keep you respectable: a proper fastening, a quiet cup, and a pocket that does not betray you at the worst moment.
The cloak it belongs to has seen more than one mile of Road, and a good deal of weather besides. I sat by the round window, thread between my fingers, and listened to the kettle make its first gentle murmur — the sound of home saying, in its own way, you may begin.
I used to think adventures were all swords and shouting. But I have learned (sometimes the hard way) that a bit of patience can be as brave as any swing of a blade, and more useful to a hobbit who prefers his skin unpierced.
When the button was stitched on firm at last, I felt a small satisfaction settle in my chest, as warm and tidy as the last knot. If your own day feels a touch loose at the edges, I recommend one simple act of mending — for it is surprising how far a single neat stitch can travel.
Filed under: Middle Earth • Written at Bag End