Prompt for March 8, 2011: Write a story or poem or create a piece of artwork reflecting identification with or connection to one's land, country or culture.)
The words seemed like the very bones of the earth, strong and hard like stone, beautiful as the jewels Gimli described, bright as the lamps, rhythmic as the beat of the smith's hammer, glittering as Gandalf's fireworks, ancient as kings, true as the Shire. The words beat into Sam's own head, bringing to him a vision of the marvels they described. They seemed to come from the deepest part of Gimli's soul. He'd not thought that Gimli would have such power in his voice. The Dwarf was singing of his home, the true home of his heart, whether or no he had ever set foot there before. Gimli was longing for the Khazad-Dûm of his song, the way Sam longed for the Shire. Sam blinked and looked about him, the vision the song had given him fading...
"I like that," he said, "I should like to learn it. In Moria, in Khadad-Dûm! But it makes the darkness seem heavier, thinking of all those lamps. Are there gold and jewels lying about here still?"*
Sam winced inwardly to hear himself. His own words sounded so common. He hoped he'd not offended Gimli, but he had to say something after that song…
*From FotR, Book II, Chapter IV, "A Journey in the Dark"