First Snowfall in Imladris

                Moonlight reflected from snow awakens Frodo, and he rises, walks out.  No lock to door here.  He is taut as the string to any violin, alert to all that moves.  A fork in the path, and pristine snow lies on the sheet of ice covering a decorative lake.  Icicles glimmer like crystal, pendant from the rope binding small boat to miniature wharf.  With a stick he painstakingly draws each letter of his name in Tengwar upon the virgin white. 

                “The moon is the north wind’s cookie,” he sings as he forms a number of snowballs, each the size of a large peach.  Upon a garden chair he sculpts a monkey of snow, adding even the tail.  By it he sculpts a bottle and a loaf to represent drink and bread.

                He scoops a hole in the whiteness--forms another ball.

                Sam comes forth to seek him.

                Thwack!

                On the money!