With What a Glory by StarSpray

With What a Glory

Read With What a Glory

With what a glory comes and goes the year!
The buds of spring, those beautiful harbingers
Of sunny skies and cloudless times, enjoy
Life’s newness, and earth’s furniture spread out
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “Autumn”

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Spring

When the frozen waters cracked and the snow melted drip, drip, dripping from stone and bough down to the river valley where the Withywindle swelled, Goldberry rose. The sun shone merrily upon the world, warm again and strong, and so through the snow patches and through the cold wet mud Goldberry danced, singing a song of waking. She sang to the trees, for their roots to dig deeper and drink of the new water flowing, for the boughs to quiver with new-run sap, for leaves to bud and unfurl, soft as kisses. She sang to greet the birds come back from warmer climes, of nests and eggs and tiny babies peeping; she sang to frogs in the lily pond and flowers springing up to scent the air. Wake up, wake up! Live again, breathe deep the fresh clean air! Come out, badgers and rabbits and field mice in your snug warm nests.

She danced through the forest and down the withy-paths, laughing at Old Man Willow and his sleepy grumbling. She danced through the waters, cold with snow melt, not lazy in spring but rushing, rushing, eager to wash the winter away down, down to Sea. With the water Goldberry sent her song, a song of greetings to Uinen in the deeps and Ossë in the waves, and Ulmo their master. To with the green-scented breezes she sent her songs to Manwë high on western mountains, and to the summer stars she sang for Elbereth and her handmaidens. And with her songs the forest woke, the birds chattered and the squirrels scolded; cheeping baby birds were hatched and little bunnies hid with their mothers in the clover.

And when at last her song was done, Goldberry settled in the warm grass by the lily pool, and washed her long golden hair, while all around sang the larks and the nightingales, beneath the bright blue sky.

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Summer

Summer was a time for growth; while the warm-breathed wind whispered through the willow trees, and the sun beat hot and steady and blinding-bright on the surface of the water, Goldberry sang her songs of growing, of fledgling birds reaching flight, of tadpoles sprouting legs, of roots sinking ever deeper into the earth. She sang songs of waking when Old Willow-man whispered songs of sleeping, and she sang of blooming, of ripening, of berries sweet and tangy, and lily flowers on the water.

And when she was not singing she was swimming, tending to her lilies and basking in the coolness of the river. When Tom came by, she sprang up, laughing, to splash him and wet his silly hat and big clomping boots. Sometimes he swam with her, most times he sprang away to leap across the hilltops, content in the bright sun while she stayed damp and cool.

(Sometimes she let the river take her, drifting lazy down the winding Withywindle, until it joined the Brandywine, and she hid in the reeds to spy upon unsuspecting hobbits, tilling the land, singing of home and good food and comfort. She found their fields by the water and sang her growing-songs, and laughed to see their smiles when the crops grew tall and green. And sometimes she teased the bravest hobbits that took their boats out onto the river, tugging on their fishing lines that came up empty, before swimming back to the Forest, to her lily pool in the shade.)

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Autumn

When the harvest-time came to the hobbits by the Brandywine, and the wind was kissed with cold, Goldberry sang her songs of changing, of green to gold to fire-bright-red to brown, and she sang the songs of frost on the grass and of the whisper of leaves falling to blanket the ground.

Of rain, too she sang, to wash away the dust of summer and the pollen, and the heavy heat. For cooling waters she sang, dancing atop the hill, her golden hair streaming all about her, her steps keeping the beat of raindrops on bare branches and on the water. She sang farewell to the birds that departed for the warmer lands far down the rivers, and farewell to the animals burrowing deep in their dense to doze the coming cold away. She spun down the withy-paths and sang songs of sleep, stronger even than the Willow-man, to set the trees to rest, as little golden willow leaves floated past on down the river toward the faraway Sea.

With them she sent songs of farewell and rest, to Uinen, Ossë, Ulmo. With the winds she sang her thanks and goodbye to Manwë, and when the rainclouds cleared she bid the summer stars farewell, and to Elbereth goodnight.

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Winter

Winter was a time for sleeping, beneath the frosted hills and snowy drifts. Goldberry curled up in her own bed surrounded by the lily flowers old Tom picked for her every autumn, and drowsed. It was a time for stillness, when the forest lay quiet, the river half-frozen and only a trickling whisper on its lazy way, when snow lay thick upon the leaves. If there were songs to be sung they were not hers, and so she wiled away the long cold nights dreaming of sunlight on clear water, and her lily pool, and bluebirds in the branches.

Until the thaws came, and she woke, and all began anew.