I live in a world of Men, Men who have created towers of glass and stone, great ribbons of stone upon the ground, and carriages of cold metal to transport themselves hither and yon. I am one of the last of my race; my elders passed on to the Grey Shores many years ago.

By day I, too, pretend to be a Man. In shame I cast a spell upon my ears so that Men cannot see that I am unlike them, and like them I travel daily to another palace and there perform Manly magic. But I, Amandíl, Elf-Lord in the Misty Hills, choose not to let go the old ways; choose not to let the ways of Men dictate my life: I park my car—made of aluminium and steel, with no Cold Iron to cause me pain—in a vast underground stone stable and ride a little room up into a tower where I have a small apartment.

And there I live my Elvish life, hoping one day that … someone … will return and bring us back to something resembling our former glory. Until then, my fellow Elves, let us make music upon the land. Let there be intercourse and colloquy! Even if only for a few moments, let shine the glory that once was ours.

As an elf, you know the dangers of this World of Man, and you have overcome them successfully, or you would not be reading this Web page. So send me some e-mail.

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