Thursday, 9 October 2008


I can’t help it. I always feel like a hobbit when I go walking in the moonlight. You’d think I might feel like something a little more romantic. But no, it’s hairy feet and ringwraiths. (Mmm, and lots of food… hobbits certainly know how to eat. Just don’t break the bowls and smash the plates! That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates.) Thanks to Dad reading us stories before bed when we were kids, I can picture the little company travelling by night and sleeping by day. When the moon is bright, you don’t need a lantern, or flashlight. Your eyes adjust, and the moon shadows fall sharply on the path. When you go into the deep dark woods and have to turn on the flashlight, it only makes things spookier. The trees no longer whisper conspiratorially, but are menacingly standoffish. The light is intrusive. And of course, if you were a hobbit on a dangerous and secret journey, the light would attract attention. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t want to head into the night alone, even if the scariest thing I ran into was a raccoon. It’s funny how just one person makes all the difference. When my husband is with me, I feel like I could be entrusted with such a quest, creeping over hills and moors and stealing through elfish woods. Just one person, and I’m not so scared of the spiderwebs or the rustlings in the dark. Just one person, and the night isn’t so cold, the trees become friendly again, and a simple walk becomes an adventure.


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