Picnic At The Bonfire Glade

[Eol]

The winds was soft and sweet, much as summer always did. Every hobbit, elf and Man had crossed up the leaves to a glade far beyond the sycamore that stood not too far away. Beneath it was quite an unsual sight. Amusing was the plight, not of the fallen elf, but of the rags upon its steed. In one hand the reins and in the other a basket of wicker, made not more then two winter nights since. ' I remember those reeds ' The oak thought, ' Those reeds spoke of the waters that helped them grow, of the sorrows and of the woes of plight of those not in Aman'.
Children giggled while the women laughed, it was not a day of sorrow, but of glee. Even the jays and the swallows echo them in their whistles and tweets. The oak laughed, the branches rattled and knocked, the jays remained while the swallows flew away. ' Am I to bring my own pain and not seek after this parade? '