The mist at daybreak was thick and grey and dreary, and it embraced the ground like an enormous cloak draped across the shivering shoulders of a small, freezing girl on a frosty day of autumn. From the sky fell a silent rain of cold, silvery beads, which pierced the peaceful stream where the wild animals went to quench their morning thirst, but the shore was remarkably empty this morning, and the stream had grown to the point of a lesser flood. All around and above me, merely a lonesome wanderer in the nature's midst, stands the trees of Falathlorn, and their branches, as well as the ground beneath my feet, are littered with their leaves painted in every hue of red, orange, yellow and brown; a thousand and yet a thousand blends of all of autumns vivid colors. Noiseless whispers amid the weary trees, that only a true friend of nature would perceive, spoke ill of the coming winter, as if it would be the worst to come for many years. Through the crowns of dead leaves and branches above, I behold the dark, dismal sky with watering eyes. My lips form a light, but forced smile and my voice is rising; I sing a lament for the falling leaves, while the rain falls as hard upon my face as lances thrown from the heavens.
Rest now, you weary trees of Falathlorn!
Fall now, you timeworn leaves of autumn!
Sleep now, you wonders of nature; the seed of Yavanna!
Sleep now, and awake in spring, with newfound life!
Midday comes with a torching light that penetrates the opaque clouds above. A ray of sunshine hits my watered face, and the lack of warmth hits me harder then the cold rain. The winter will be long, freezing and dreadful. So does nature speak without words, and I see the snow fall next. Snowflakes as large as my palm and whiter then the gown of Queen Galadriel, and they fall in innumerable amounts towards the freezing soil. I take a few steps forward into the snow, leaving what I thought would be a trail of footprints, but as I look behind me, there is nothing showing that I've ever been present. I keep walking, and still there is no trail from my feet. As I reach the stream, the water has already frozen and a thin layer of gleaming ice covers the surface, and in its mirror-like apparition, there is only a nothingness reflecting back at me. I am not there. And this is where it hits me. I am walking inside a dream, a dream of fall and winter. It is not the first time an experience like this has come to me. I dream all the time, but rarely are the dreams this intensely detailed, or vivid, or so full of emotion and a racing heart.
"A racing heart?"
I suddenly feel and hear my own heartbeats; like a drum of war they echo across the frozen wastes, and the sleeping birds are suddenly stirring in their nests, and the flutter of wings turns my attention to the sky again, where the birds fly away towards the dim mountains on the horizon, in search for a quiet, peaceful dwelling.
"A drum of war?"
This is not my beating heart. The sound comes closer, and it intensifies with every passing second, as if someone beat the drum-skin with a larger bat with every hit. I reach for my sword, but it is not there. There are no boots upon my naked feet, and no gloves covering my freezing hands. I am alone and unprotected in the snow, which now has grown so deep that I sink down to my knees. I run, or jump, through the icy gifts of heaven, towards the only place I know to be safe - my home. "Home is where the heart is.", is a well-known saying; but I do not know where my home is. My feet are taking me into the unknown passages of time and space, with the grace of a doe and the clumsiness of a wild, injured boar at the same time. I'm flying over the snow-covered fields, watching the landscape change beneath me, until the motion abruptly stops in the wake of a great oak with twisted, gnarled branches. There is a thunder in the far distance, where a mountain so dark and horrid stretches above all else. A fell voice echoes across the land - a voice so dark and full of dread that the coldness of winter feels like a hot midsummer day in comparison. "War is coming, and winter with it. All that you know will be dead and lifeless. There is no hope." There is a struggle of wills, a battle of minds, and then, like a leaf, I'm dwindling; slowly, gradually, inch by inch, towards the snowy earth. Like a leaf in fall, a life is fading, ready to rest for the winter, to sleep beneath blue skies and snow-covered fields; waiting for the spring that brings new life, when all the snow has melted, and its vibrant waters carry the secret of life in the streaming tide. And I wonder, "Will there be a spring coming...? Is there hope?"
"...Yes, there is always hope."
...and then I wake up.
