The Hobbit

I had just arrived home from an outing with the group. I was tired, ready for a cup of tea and a nap, but something inside me-Jesus perhaps-told me to go for a walk. I resisted the feeling, asserting to myself that I had no need of a walk. The feeling, however, persisted and I chose to obey. I strolled along main street Dundrum, enjoying the stares of passing cars. I cut through a path in the woods and strolled at my ease. I picked a wee, yellow flower and inhaled its scent-it smelt like the most natural of perfumes. I strolled on. As I emerged onto the road that led through a neighborhood, I noticed a small figure approaching in the distance. He came from the woods of Murlogh. He was small and somewhat stout. I could tell little until he came closer. He carried a large pack upon his back and wore a hat upon his head. He had quite a beard and smiled sweetly at me as we passed each other. I turned my head to gaze after him and was struck instantly by his stature. This then spawned a new thought, "he is just the size for a hobbit-well, perhaps a larger than average hobbit...." Nonetheless, I believe I was encouraged to go on a walk for many reasons that day, but one of them encompassed being able to glimpse, in the flesh, a real, live, hobbit. My imagination or not, so it stands...