Reading ‘The Hobbit’ has not been as rewarding as I expected. I was hoping for an epic journey, one that I can read and reread, one that will make me restless, but it has not felt right. Maybe it’s an age thing.
Still, maybe it has had an effect, for I’ve been thinking about mountains again and feel a hiking trip coming up. I often pretend that I can find beauty in the ‘small things and every day deeds’ and thought I had found one here, on this very earth, but it turned out to be an illusion, nothing but a beautiful dream. In heights, where the air can be thin, we tend to hallucinate and imagine things. But for some reason those seem more meaningful than the delusions of the lowlands.