“Often…they would sit together under the stars, recalling the ages that were gone and all their joys and labours in the world, or holding council, concerning the days to come. If any wanderer had chanced to pass, little would he have seen or heard, as it would have seemed to him only that he saw grey figures, carved in stone, memorials of forgotten things now lost in unpeopled lands. For they did not move or speak with mouth, looking from mind to mind; and only their shining eyes stirred and kindled as their thoughts went to and fro.”—J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
He broke from his silence to share, “I like those kinds of conversations…the ones when words aren’t needed, when minds and other methods speak and spirit just knows.”
She listened, smiling, eyes with a shine of campfire light as she held to a limb of hedge, stirring amongst the flames as fire crackled and limb sent sparks up thermal column, fading and disappearing into night and sky.
Wrapped in a grey blanket, she blended with the night; all save for her face that shone, still, as the sun or near-dream star.
She never spoke; but by her eyes, lit and kindled in spirit, he knew.
Amongst their quiet, they continued in communion: heart to heart, mind to mind, warmed in keep of kindled flame.