after the last ranger left

i sat in the morning sun, staring at a road that disappeared over a hill

there were no buildlings visible at the summit to spoil my fancy’s view

but tall trees in full leaf flanked either side of the winding path

if i had time to climb the hill i half expected to find hobbits on the other side

puttering about in their gardens or cooking a hearty second breakfast

of eggs and sausages and mushrooms and tea with a nice pipe afterward

i thought i might glimpse elves lurking in the woods at twilight

when the leaves cast silvery shadows on the grass beneath and cicadas hum

the scent of sun-warmed green life wafting on the breeze

my imagined world was lovely and i could have slipped away

but reality’s roar of traffic reminded me that a highway lay between me

and the byway of my yearnings, which was covered in practical asphalt

and one of the only hobbits for miles around was sitting in a blue car

next to me, wearing brown flipflops and two days worth of stubble

the dunedain had slain all the goblins on the bluffs and departed

i reminded myself that eowyn and aragorn had never married each other