J.R.R. Tolkien's Grave

I’m 21 years old, the first time I’ve left the US, over in Oxford as combination graduation gift to myself/desire to attend the massive Tolkien centenary conference in 1992, which was quite wonderful. I still treasure the memories. In the photo, as I am standing there looking down with my chin held in one hand, hair (as always!) flowing free, I see myself and I try and guess what was all running through my head, as I took a moment to pause besides the memorial to my favorite author and his wife. Many years on and those feelings remain strong, I think, tempered by time and experience but no less invigorating. He and I were much different people, in the end, but that he moves me still is testimony to the power of great art.