Notice: With the Laurelin server shutting down, our website will soon reflect the Meriadoc name. You can still use the usual URL, or visit us at https://meriadocarchives.org/

The Turning of the Year



It is the 16th day of Laer
In the 3018th year of the Sun
Of the Third Age of Middle-earth


As I write these words, bright Anor is riding radiant in her blue fields, glorious but fierce. For the day is uncommonly hot, even in the green-shadowed woodlands, and many of the Wood-elves are therefore seeking solace in the fresh cold waters of the Forest River; they have forsaken their woodland garb and are frolicking clad in naught but their glistening skin... it is a merry day for swimming! Overhead broad beechen boughs gently sway, and through their green leaves golden sunlight glimmers; my back rests against smooth cool bark and the breeze brings sounds of mirthful song and splashing Elves to my ears, and delights my wet skin with its breath.
   (Ai! And I am dripping inky river-water on my prized journal!)

In sixteen days hence it will be the Day of Midsummer and there shall be much mirth and merrymaking throughout the Woodland Realm! Laer has wellnigh reached its height and on that day of all days the unshadowed Sun shines strongest and longest upon the face of Ennor. At dawn we shall greet her rising with song and joy, for though we love the glittering stars of Elbereth, the bright Day-star[1] gives life to all that is green and grows and is glad. Ivann it was that planted the seeds of the galassath, and whose song of sorrow brought forth the single fruit of gold upon the leafless bough of stricken Glewellin from which the Sun was made; thus it is her name that we shall sing in highest praise.

And Teithoron (who deigns not to to join us in our frolic!) told me of the Gondolindrim who, in the First Age of the world, long ago, likewise honoured this day with a great feast they named Tarnin Austa, whereupon they stood in silent solemn vigil and no voice was uttered in the city from midnight till the break of day; but the dawn they hailed, standing upon their gleaming eastern wall, with ancient songs and with the music of many elven-choirs.[2] Now we have no such walls about the Woodland Realm, nor would any Wood-elf abide a night of silence ere a great feast! And though I deem our hearts are akin to those Elves of old, our mirth begins at the rising of the stars and we make merry till the first pale light of dawn, and thereafter we sing our joyful reverence as the sun breaches the horizon.

But midsummer marks also the day that the strength of the sun begins to wane; the coming days will grow shorter and the nights longer. And it seems to me that this natural rhythm, this ebb and flow, is akin to the long slow breath of the world. Golden Summer gives way to the red leaves of Autumn, which in their turn herald the cold winds of Winter, and then green Spring comes again; the wheel of the year is ever turning and the years roll past, and the long lives of my elven-kindred go ever on and on.

The passing of the seasons of Ardhon brings to my thoughts the passage of years of my own short life. For by my reckoning (though I am likely wrong, for never have numbers been my friends!) it is wellnigh fourteen weeks until the Enedhoer and I will by then have danced and sung upon the living earth for three and fifty years! And though I have not yet attained the full stature and shape in which I will endure,[3] I linger in the first spring of childhood no longer and have changed much in the swift years of Middle-earth. Amdirren my mother said that she, too, was slow in growing and likened us to the steadfast oak or apple tree, but others are akin to the beech-tree or the silver birch which are swift in reaching for the sky. But, she says, 'Trees that are slow to grow, bear the best fruit!'[4]

Merry my life has been in the green-shadowed woodlands which I love, and though Taur-nu-Fuin is perilous and I oft yearn to behold the Wide World beyond the confines of the forest, my heart is ever filled with gladness and with joy!


[1] The Silmarillion, Quenta Silmarillion, "Of the Sun and Moon and the Hiding of Valinor"
[2] The Book of Lost Tales Part Two, "The Fall of Gondolin"
[3] Morgoth's Ring, "The Laws and Customs Among the Eldar"
[4] Molière

17