I Sit and Think

I Sit and Think

I sit beside the fire and think of all that I have seen,
of meadow-flowers and butterflies in summers that have been;
Of yellow leaves and gossamer in autumns that there were,
with morning mist and silver sun and wind upon my hair.
I sit beside the fire and think of how the world will be
when winter comes without a spring that I shall ever see.

For still there are so many things that I have never seen:
in every wood in every spring there is a different green.
I sit beside the fire and think of people long ago,
and people who will see a world that I shall never know.
But all the while I sit and think of times there were before,
I listen for returning feet and voices at the door.

–JRR Tolkien

I found this poem in The Lord of the Rings and loved it. It made me think of my almost-empty nest, how much of life is now in my memory, of the seasons to come that I will not be around for, but mostly, how I look so forward to hearing those returning feet and voices at my door. It makes me tear up every time I think about it.

It’s a cozy scene, Bilbo tucked in by the fire with a cup of tea, remembering and dreaming. For me, it’s also proven to be a brief scene. Just about the time I get settled in to reminisce and be melancholy, those footsteps and voices do return, and I’m pulled into the present.

Sometimes it’s scheduled in advance. As the summer winds down, one of my girls likes to come home and harvest apples from the little apple trees in our yard and make applesauce to put up in jars. We planned another day to make jars of salsa while there are still tomatoes and peppers at the farmer’s market . As my canning shelf begins to fill up, I’m thankful for her energy that encourages me to do things I love to do, but would become just sweet memories by the fire if we didn’t do them together.

Other times, it’s unexpected. A few times in recent weeks, I’ve gotten a text from one of my kids that says something like, “Are you doing anything right now?” Usually I am doing something–whether cozied up with memories or a more workaday task–but since much of my work is flexible,  I often can say, “Not really, why?”

Last week, a daughter needed help to buy a bed, mattress and linens from IKEA, drive it all to San Francisco, push/pull/carry it up to her third floor apartment, and build it. As the the head board came  together, we were proud of ourselves until we came to a critical point and realized we had switched two pieces (“Oh that’s what the A and B on the bottom of the legs means!”). We hit another snag when the center beam was not included in the bed box, which extended the project into the next afternoon. Finally finished, we sagged, sore and happy, onto her lovely new bed.

The week before that, one of my girls was inspired by the crisp fall air to bake–at my house. She came over and we spent the afternoon making pumpkin bread and pumpkin-shaped sugar cookies with orange frosting. She left the next day, her bag loaded with fall goodies to share with her roommate and friends.

I’m snuggled up with my laptop now, relishing these sweet new memories and waiting for the next footsteps and voices at the door.