I’ve got the magic of old Bombadil. I’ve got Frodo’s PTSD. I’ve got the wanderlust of Bilbo. I’ve got the rage of tortured trees…  

Last night I cried so hard that the angles forgot their errands and listened in, rubber-necking…

I do not fear death, for death is reliable. It sings the oldest song, and if nothing else, the song is true…  

By the rocks, down at Crystal Cove, where salty crustaceans meander cross rows of brown and green seaweed all covered in foam, two rag-tag sailors did happen to roam…