When I first met you, first lifted your heavy volume off the shelf, I was but a child, young; naive. You were a dusty tome, a silent wonder of words and page and print and ink. I was unsure, a little bit hesitant; you were a ‘big people book”, I could not have been more wrong, and I smile now, at the irony. I appreciated you, but was too young to love you. Yours was a love to be learned. And it would be years before it was my turn to make that journey.
After many false starts, my feet finally left the comforting, sleepy warmth of the first few chapters. And you began to guide me. With song by starlight, we walked, through glen and wood, hill and haven, barrow and marsh, forest and meadow. At each juncture, you held my hand, though shadow loomed and each new day brought us closer to an uncertainty, closer to doom foretold. A Elbereth Gilthoniel! A fair language I understood but did not know; flowing through your pages like tributaries of the softest, golden dawn-melted snowfall. I was enthralled. Your script was delicate to the mind’s eye, the kissing of petals even amidst the horn calls of war. Always you enunciated the timelessness of that which was beautiful, even in the passing of its age. You were wonder and comfort, brotherhood and love, strength and refinement. You were both humble and regal, history and lore you melded and moulded into artisanal wartime rhetoric and soft dialogue between companions. The roots of my language are strong because of you, and they flower from tongue and pen with the fruit of your inspiration. Thank you, old friend and mentor. Elen Sila Lumenn’ Omentielvo, truly, it was a blessed star that shone at our meeting.
Paul Victor
After many false starts, my feet finally left the comforting, sleepy warmth of the first few chapters. And you began to guide me. With song by starlight, we walked, through glen and wood, hill and haven, barrow and marsh, forest and meadow. At each juncture, you held my hand, though shadow loomed and each new day brought us closer to an uncertainty, closer to doom foretold. A Elbereth Gilthoniel! A fair language I understood but did not know; flowing through your pages like tributaries of the softest, golden dawn-melted snowfall. I was enthralled. Your script was delicate to the mind’s eye, the kissing of petals even amidst the horn calls of war. Always you enunciated the timelessness of that which was beautiful, even in the passing of its age. You were wonder and comfort, brotherhood and love, strength and refinement. You were both humble and regal, history and lore you melded and moulded into artisanal wartime rhetoric and soft dialogue between companions. The roots of my language are strong because of you, and they flower from tongue and pen with the fruit of your inspiration. Thank you, old friend and mentor. Elen Sila Lumenn’ Omentielvo, truly, it was a blessed star that shone at our meeting.
Paul Victor