This morning I heard the very first bird before I heard the kettle — a brisk little note, as if someone had tapped the world awake with a teaspoon. When I opened the round door, there it was, perched on the latch with the boldness only small creatures possess.
I set a few crumbs on the step (not enough to make a habit of it, mind you), and watched the bird hop away with a great show of purpose. The Hill path beyond the gate looked damp and honest, the Party Tree still half-asleep in a thin mist. It made me think how, in Middle Earth, the day often begins with something small — a sound, a scent, a bit of warmth in the air.
I have seen grand halls and terrible hoards, and I have learned that the best part of a morning is sometimes just a good, plain bit of cheer. As I shut the door and went back to the kettle, an old line from my book came to mind: "If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world." I daresay a crumb on the doorstep is a fine place to begin.
Filed under: Middle Earth • Written at Bag End