April Sunrise (before a certain Wizard came to call)

The Sun painted her roses in the Eastern sky as Bilbo inhaled great lungfuls of the fresh morning air. His early constitutional had taken him to the top of the Hill this day. For some reason, he'd had trouble sleeping, roused by loud, pre-dawn birdsong while the world was still shrouded in soft, gentle darkness. He'd thrown off the bedcovers and dressed himself in haste, forgetting to tuck away a clean pocket-handkerchief, as he discovered when a sudden sneeze overtook him on reaching the hilltop.

Watching the stars fade into the brightening skies made such inconvenience but a minor matter.