39. Fireworks

The ocean wind turns colder after the sun sets, biting into bone. The bonfires are lit to keep away the chill, and the blue lights Galadriel hung earlier flare to life, adding their quiet beauty to the night. Gandalf’s been hinting at a surprise all week and now he hands out sparklers to the children, who light them and run about the garden with them, just like at the Birthday Party. 

“Panthael, look!” Yulion says and lights a string of crackers so they all go off one after another.

“That’s neat!” I say in Quenyan, though since it’s Quenyan, I’m actually saying, “That’s most splendid!” 

Gandalf starts the show after dessert’s served. The first rocket is the old Party Tree, which transforms into the mallorn. Galadriel winks at me. I had attempted to draw the mallorn for her, with little success. The second rocket is Bilbo’s dragon, then there’s the Eagles and the Ents. There’s also rockets that make pretty patterns and colors of nothing in particular. 

I lay back on my blanket to give my neck a rest. Weeks of looking up hasn’t helped it none. I lay between Lindir and Haldir, with Glorfindel behind me, and watch as the rockets soar into the sky. I begin to feel like I’m going up with them, following them skyward. I can no longer feel the ground beneath me or hear my friends around me. I see only the green of the Hill and its sheltering oak.

I go up to the oak and put my hand to its bole, though there’s naught there but sparkling light. My hand goes through it and soon I’m looking down: at the fireworks, the garden, Tol Eressëa, Arda. Ahead of me is a single light growing brighter with each moment: the star of Eärendil.

GF 11/6/12

To be continued...