[Rimbaud]

One of these, a tall, angular figure, had hopped over the low hedge and into the verdant lawns that stretched beside the meandering path. Under his arm was tucked a battered blue notebook. Dressed in sombre grey he was, although a sash of blue around his waist made a striking impression. It went well with his eyes, passers-by noted. His hair was brown and tousled and many of the hobbitry who walked past thought he looked a little vague, a little distant.

"Never can tell with the big folk," some muttered but they flashed their smiles across the hedge at him, as he ambled along.

The press of the crowd had been discomforting for our strolling poet; now that we have him to ourselves, we'll observe what he does. The poet was humming, a note per footfall, and those with the sharpest of hearing would have recognised the tune. A Baggins or two had sung the song in years past.

Occasionally he paused, opened the notebook and scribbled with his quill - dipping it into the tiny inkwell hidden in his pocket. Much of the poet's life was stored in those pockets, but that's a story for another time...

Here's some of what he wrote. No sooner had he navigated the hedge than he stopped and wrote this : What is life, if full of care, We have no time to stand and stare...Anybody watching would have seen him frown to himself and mutter. He scratched the words away and closed the book.

The sun continued its path across the sky and the party goers contnued their journey of discovery. Our poet stumbled once or twice. The reason? He kept looking upwards, at the clouds, scudding across the canvas of the sky. He stopped a little later and wrote: I wandered lonely, As a cloud... He hated this more than the last, observed some laughing hobbit children who had followed his weaving blue sash through the fields. He tore that page out and let it float away, borne by a zephyr away, over hedges, nestling finally in a patch of tall yellow flowers.

What happened next? Well, our intrepid poet and his travelling companions saw pennnants fluttering in the breeze and could hear a great commotion! The road went on and on, but more and more people chose the fields as the road curved away from the colourful banners that streamed in the lush green fields...

[ September 18, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]