Two Sides of Twilight.

I gave the lawn its first mow of the year today – a high cut, of course, to ease it in gently – and this evening at twilight I stood on it.

It looked bigger than it has of late, but then lawns always do when they’ve just been mown. All around it the growth is greening and waking to a new season; it’s looking more like a garden now, and less like a brown and frigid wasteland. The herbaceous plants are swelling, the leaf buds on the fruit trees are beginning to open, and the forget-me-nots are running rampant with masses of tiny pink and blue flowers. Such unassuming plants, forget-me-nots, so simple yet so free in their gaudy attire.

But there was another side to this evening’s twilight. There was an unseasonal chill in the air, and the marbled clouds of mid and dark grey were driving purposefully from the north. The big hedgerow trees were standing rigid, silhouetted starkly against the uneven, shifting sky, and seeming to wait with bated breath for the daylight to desert the Shire. One could almost imagine the Nazgul riding close. Such an evocative name, Nazgul, so redolent of power, darkness and indifference to the woes of men. Let’s hope there’s nothing to find here, and they ride on.