Seasons
Spring
Frodo thinks that Sam is Spring itself. He watches as Sam coaxes life from the
earth, as he wakes flowers and trees and vegetables and nurtures them into
bloom and leaf and growth. Living things answer his call and come rushing back
to life. Sam smells like good, clean soil, and new grass, and soft rain. Scars
and damage are soon washed away in the renewal of Spring,
healed and turned into something beautiful and growing. Sam is the dogged
persistence of life, surging forward against all barriers. Sam is the promise
of all that is to come.
Summer
Sam thinks that Merry is Summer personified, he has
grown so gloriously shining and confident and joyous. His presence is warm and
glowing and heartening, and when he passes through a room, hobbits (especially
the lasses) turn and lean in toward him, as if to soak up his heat and light.
Merry is giving and unhurried and celebratory, and if he has dark nights filled
with violent storms, they do not show in the morning. They call Merry the
Magnificent, now, and he shines down on the Shire in basking rays.
Autumn
Merry thinks that Pippin is the very essence of Autumn.
He even smells like it, all year round -- crackling leaves and apples and
harvest and bonfires. He is a bracing, twirling gust of wind that comes
crashing through the front door of Crickhollow and
blasts straight back to the kitchen, leaving objects quivering in his wake.
Pippin is all vibrant and varied colors, bristling in the wind. He is the call
to adventure, to walking-trips and roopie games and
cantering ponies. Pippin is the harvest of abundance, and his very presence
satisfies those surrounding him.
Winter
Pippin thinks that Frodo is Winter. Sometimes he is
the Winter of warm and cozy rooms with a heartening
fire and a good cup of tea. Other times, he is the Winter
of softly falling snow, making familiar landscapes achingly beautiful and
strange and ethereal. And yet other times, he is the Winter
of frozen waters and biting winds and black, black nights that seem to never
end. The chill of Winter has seeped into Frodo's very
bones, and even in the glory of Midsummer's Day, Pippin can see the frost
clinging to him. Pippin is afraid that the only thing
that can thaw Winter are the warm currents of the Sea.