Limestone cliffs, dry stone walls, the tumult of tumbling water,
Trout hold still against the stream,
Spaniels splash right in;
Pentagenarians sandwich together,
Gates shut on grazing sheep.
Wooded slopes, sun spangled meadows, Numenorean ruins,
Ice cream in the parking lot,
Lothlorien;
Without the ring.
The change in the style of this blog, unfortunate or otherwise, was prompted by a hike along the river Wye in the Peak District
Down Monsal Dale, up Brushfield, past the Priestcliffe Lees, down to Litton Mill, through Miller Dale and Cressbrook, and back up to Monsal Head
Sunshine on the water...naw, John Denver doesn't fit the Tolkienian mood
Magic wrought by the Numenoreans, when Middle-Earth was still young
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost…
Renewed shall be the sword that was broken,
The crownless shall again be king
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