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After a long day of hard work on my Uncle�s fields (I call old Odo my Uncle; �Father� has simply never felt right), I have once again sought what I desire: quiet and peace. Walking in the sweeping breeze brought on by an early fall, I have come to the Oak Forest, a small woodland not far from my Uncle�s, and there I always look for a tree I know well. It is a tree like me: different and out of place. It is different because it is the tallest of all the trees in the Oak Forest, rising far above the river, stretching up its arms to the sun. It is out of place because it is a type not found anywhere in the whole of the woods. It is not an oak, but a pine. How it came to be here is not known and everyone I know calls it mysterious and odd and anything surrounded by those two words means something to be left alone. For this reason, I know that solitude is no problem when I seek my tree; that, and I know my tree understands me better than my own people. My pine knows what it is like to be unwanted. |
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Unwanted! How I sigh at that word. Yet for my loneliness, I would have more of what I desire from the Shire. Quiet and peace, I value them because of who I am, and because they allow me time to think. When I am by my pine, I think about what could be if I was wanted. If I was wanted, the other Hobbits would sit with me in the Green Dragon and enjoy my company and we would talk about all the important news of the Shire. If I was wanted, I would have the courage to stand on my own and have my own adventures to share with others. If I was wanted, I could call on Priscilla Goldworthy! Oh what a beauty she is. More often than not under my pine, I think of her. Such a young Hobbit lass has never been seen in the Shire! Her eyes are of crystal green and hair of chestnut brown. Alas! If I were but wanted� I will never be worthy enough for her and so I must sit here under my pine forever alone. Oh, what does this world hold in store for me?
I overheard Uncle Odo today and I am sorry I did. Over my years, I have said little and left him alone as much as I could, but still he looks down on me.
�Pady� I can feed him and care for him, but he�ll never be mine. I am sure he is one of them and I have left them out of my head forever. I don�t want to think of them and him around is always a reminder that they exist. And that he might find out! That would be far worse. Better to be a Hobbit with no history, than a Hobbit with black history.�
My Uncle is wrong! It is not better to be a Hobbit with no history. He has never had to endure the looks and the comments behind his back. He has never had to blush when asked where he came from or what his ancestry is. I would rather have a very dark history than none at all. At least I would know then to whom I belong and why I am despised! |
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