Homely House of the West,
Securely nestled between the riven hills,
Your deep, rich silence enfolds me like the waves of Ulmo's waters.
It feels as if from an elder time, although newly-wrought.
The echoes of ancient rite are novel in sound to these elderly hills of Arda,
The Angelus bell curious in it's rounded, measured tones, but yet intimately familiar -
the veil already thinned by offerings of bread, wine and incense.
What echoes of Eru's theme do they hear?
The leaves of Fangorn turn golden,
Crisping the breeze with a gentle rustle,
They trust in the three interlocked rings and do not fear the yearly dying.
Their whisper carries amusement at hasty folk.
Soon I will leave, taking up again my own ancient-forged burden,
And turn not to The West but east.
But I must return some day,
For Elvish singing is not a thing to be missed in October under the stars.
David+
Llewelyn house is a branch house of the Order of Julian of Norwich, a contemplative monastic order of the Episcopal Church of which I am an affiliate.
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