A Winter's Tale, Part 11
Jan. 1st, 2008 11:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anjouficTitle: A Winter's Tale 11/23
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
comice aka Anjou (Anjou@rocketmail.com)
Posting Date: December 2007/January 2008
Rating: R for language and sexuality; M for Mature readers
Classification: Mulder/Scully, UST/MSR, AU
Archive: No archival until the story is completed, please. I'll be submitting to Ephemeral and Gossamer myself.
Spoilers: Through Two Fathers/One Son (S6), then AU. In other words, no Arcadia and beyond. Mytharc-y.
Disclaimer: All X-Files personnel belong to 1013 and Fox. All other elements are mine.
Author's Note: Sorry for the late posting to Ephemeral yesterday, and thanks to Scott for resolving the problem so expeditiously.
Also, it's back to work for me on January 2nd, which means that new parts will either be posted first thing in the morning (~ 8:00 EST) or at the end of the day (8:00 pm EST). Thanks!
Happy New Year!
Daily posts can be read on my fic journal:anjoufic, as well as Ephemeral and other XF fic sites. The whole tale will be archived at my website, No Other … , maintained by the generous dtg, when it is completed.
As always, thanks to my sister and editrix, Suzanne, for her support.
Summary: Cast your memory back to the dark days of Season 6, to the period immediately following the confrontation between Mulder and Scully in the Gunmen's Office. It is late winter, dark and cold, the landscape obscured and transformed by snow and ice. One must step carefully, for the very ground can be treacherous. This is a lesson Mulder and Scully have already learned when the pristine snow in Antartica yielded a long-buried secret. But the winter can hold many secrets, and could tell many tales, if it so chose.
This is but one.
~*~
Mulder was actually surprisingly good at amusing a four-year-old, although Scully wasn't really sure who was amusing whom to watch him playing with Hannah. After watching Sesame Street and a few other more dubiously educational programs, Mulder had turned off the TV set and taught Hannah how to play Go Fish. Hannah was still in her nightgown, looking pale and tired. Mulder had piled pillows behind her to prop her into a sitting position and was sprawled across the foot of her bed, patiently teaching her how to play War. Earlier, he had tried to teach her how to whistle, which had been interesting, since Mulder could barely whistle himself.
Outside, the snow showed no sign of stopping, although it had slowed down considerably. Weather reports were now predicting that it would continue into the early evening, with final accumulations somewhere in the two-foot range. They had enough food to last another day, but Scully hoped that they wouldn't need to be here longer than the next morning.
Her research on Hannah was tough slogging. She'd ascertained that Hannah was considered to be four years old, having been 'born' in February of 1995. If Mulder's hypothesis was right, and Hannah was her daughter, that would mean that Hannah's pre-natal development had been somehow artificially accelerated. However, the records Scully had only contained minimal information about Hannah's early years. There was a basic history, with information about when Hannah had achieved certain developmental milestones. Most of those seemed to be later than expected, a fact that Scully was attributing to her abnormal gestational period. In some ways, Hannah's early development was analogous to that of a very premature infant, but looking at Hannah now, Scully could see no evidence of prematurity. Hannah at four would be considered tall and slender for her 'age'; despite her odd socialization in a clinical setting, her vocabulary and conversational skills were high.
The limited medical history indicated that she'd 'born' as one of four in her group, but from what Scully could glean, they were not clones. There seemed to be subtle embryonic differences between the four girls, which were referenced in the experimental documentation. Scully was forwarding files of RFLPs to the Gunmen for confirmation of variances from the typical genome. With no access to a high-speed internet connection like the one available at work, there was no way that she could verify her thoughts on genetic alteration in a timely manner. It seemed from the limited documentation that she had, however, that the alteration had been made to the germ cells that had been used to make the zygotes, but she couldn't be sure.
She sighed. It was all so very frustrating. If Mulder was right, and the ultimate goal of the cloning experiments had been to make a hybrid resistant to Purity, then Hannah might be an unusually successful example of that process. Scully had carefully examined her lymph glands this morning, and not only was there no evidence of the green nodule that Emily had had, Hannah's lymph glands didn't seem to be swollen, except for under her jaw and at the base of her ears. There was also the fact that it appeared that her three siblings, all girls, were dead. They'd all undergone the same course of dubious treatment that Hannah had survived. The records referred to those 'experiments' as unsuccessful, and Scully found the use of scientific terminology to cursorily describe the deaths maddening, and had to repeatedly force herself to focus on Hannah's records. She could do nothing for Hannah's sisters – at least, not at the moment.
Reading Hannah's records was like picking up a book and realizing halfway into it that you were reading the last part of a trilogy. Scully had no proof of the why or how of Hannah's creation, just dizzying piles of data about her responses to obliquely described experimentation. It seemed possible that this experimentation had not begun until the past year of her life, and she could not say for certain what exactly had been done to Hannah. In addition, she could find no record of the common pediatric vaccinations that Hannah should have been given in the first years of her life included in the perfunctory history attached to her experimental records. Nor was Hannah herself a reliable witness to what had been done to her, which meant that Scully had to consider a far wider universe of possible ills than the norm. She simply couldn't assume that Hannah had been appropriately vaccinated, nor could she decipher the mysterious designations for what appeared to be sequences of something vaccination-like that appeared repeatedly in Hannah's records of the past year.
She sighed again, and Mulder looked over at her from the bed. In honor of their snow day, he was wearing his black jeans coupled with one of his work shirts. His long feet were bare, and his hair was flopping over his brow.
"You need a break, Scully," he said.
She eyebrowed him. "And, it's such a nice day for a walk, too," she answered sardonically.
"It is?" Hannah asked, puzzled.
"Oh, snow walks are the best," Mulder answered. "It's so quiet outside and everything looks so pretty." He wrapped Hannah up in the extra blanket from the closet and carried her to the window, pulling back the curtains. "Look at the trees, and the snow on the chain link fence over there."
"It's very pretty," Hannah agreed, putting her hand on the glass and then withdrawing it quickly, "but isn't it really cold?"
"Yes," Scully answered her, stretching up from the chair and wandering over to the window. "But it's nice if you know you're going to come inside and have something warm to drink."
"Like that soup in a cup?" Hannah asked dubiously. She had protested having soup for breakfast, but had rejected the instant oatmeal in a cup outright. Mulder had insisted that she needed to eat something warm, so soup it was.
Scully smiled, reaching up to Hannah to smooth her hair back and surreptitiously feel her forehead. It was still warm, but not worryingly so. "No," she said, "like hot chocolate …" Hannah looked intrigued, "with melted marshmallows."
"That sounds much better than soup," she said enthusiastically. "Do we have any of that?"
Mulder laughed. "Yes," he said.
Hannah sat patiently at the table waiting while Mulder got milk out of the snow-packed Styrofoam cooler and warmed it in the same electric hot pot he'd used earlier in the day. Her continuing quiet was a contrast to her nearly constant chattering from when they'd first met, and was a clear indicator that she was not feeling well.
"Hannah, did you drink milk when you were at the hospital?" Scully asked suddenly. It had just occurred to her that allergies were an immunological response.
"Yes," Hannah answered, puzzled.
"Did it look like the kind of white milk Mulder is using," she asked, "or was it more beige?"
"It was white," Hannah said, and Scully nodded, lost in thought, eyes sliding back to the computer screen.
While they sipped their cocoa, Mulder got coloring books, crayons and colored pencils out of the bags of stuff he'd bought on the first trip to the supermarket. Scully smirked into her cup as she watched him explaining to Hannah how to color. He demonstrated with a double panel drawing of kids playing on a playground. He was coloring the left side of the double picture, and Hannah was supposed to be coloring the right side, but as time went on, she was spending more time correcting Mulder than she was on coloring her own part. She began to rummage through the crayons and hand him appropriate colors, emphatically telling him what went where. Mulder dutifully complied, hiding a grin and occasionally hectoring Hannah to color her own side of the picture. It was hardly a surprise that he colored outside of the lines.
Scully absently sorted through the assortment of coloring books that Mulder had bought: playground scenes, with simple words; animals in their habitats; a book about families; a book of numbers and letters with simple words and their illustrations; a tablet of blank sheets. The one at the bottom of the pile was filled with complex outlined mosaics, some like stained glass windows, others like the elaborate floors and wall panels that one saw in museums. She glanced up at Mulder to see him watching her. The last book was clearly for her, but she picked up the one about animals in their habitats and began to flip through it.
"Whatcha lookin' for?" Hannah asked curiously. She was sitting on Mulder's right leg, still wrapped in the spare blanket from the closet.
"Pictures of foxes," Scully answered sweetly.
"Hey …" Mulder warned, while Hannah looked puzzled.
She found what she was looking for and began to sort through the crayons which Mulder had unceremoniously dumped in a pile in the middle of the table, along with an assortment of colored pencils.
Hannah watched her as she colored the eyes of the fox in with a green crayon, then lightly ran over it with a brown one. "See," she said to Mulder, "she stays in the lines."
Mulder rolled his eyes at Scully, and she stuck out her tongue at him, finding a burnt orange crayon to start coloring in the fox's fur.
"OK," Mulder said, "but my way is more artistic."
Scully raised an eyebrow at him, and fished around in the unruly pile for a black crayon. She looked at the fox in the drawing and then outlined the animal freehand on the empty page next to it.
"Wow!" Hannah said, impressed. "She made another fox!"
"She's just copying the drawing," Mulder protested. "That's not that hard."
"Oh, right," Scully said, laughing.
"Your turn, Mulder," Hannah announced. She was flipping through their coloring book looking for a blank page, but there were no pages that didn't have a drawing on them already. Scully helpfully handed over the tablet of blank pages. This time, Mulder stuck out his tongue at her.
"Fine, fine," Mulder grumbled. "Fine. Hannah, I need you to move you over here."
"Oh, making room," Scully said.
"Art needs room for expression," Mulder loftily responded.
"I'll bet," Scully said, as Mulder began sorting through crayons and pencils. "You're just making a bigger mess," she protested.
"Scully," he said, waving a pencil at her, "cramping." She rolled her eyes, as Mulder looked thoughtful and began to draw something. "Wait a minute," he said, crossing through that drawing, "I need to start over."
Scully smothered a giggle as Hannah encouraged Mulder, then watched as he began to draw a face on the pad. Her jaw dropped as he began to fill in the small features, until in just a few lines, Mulder had drawn a rough caricature of Hannah.
"That's ME!" Hannah said breathlessly. "You drew ME!"
Mulder was definitely smirking.
"Mulder …" she broke off, trying to look at the drawing again, which Hannah had scooped up to stare at. "That's really … where did you learn how to do that?" As soon as the words left her mouth, she remembered Mulder during the case that sent Patterson to jail for life, surrounded by drawings of gargoyles.
Mulder shrugged, "Well, one day I was coloring outside the lines and …"
She threw her crayon at his head.
"Ow," he said, then protested, "You've seen me draw things before."
"Doodling doesn't count, Mulder."
"It does too."
"Now draw her!" Hannah demanded, turning the page. "Right here."
Mulder looked at Scully over Hannah's head. "Right there," he said slowly, and Scully blushed, wondering what exactly he was imagining in his mind's eye.
"Oh, Mulder," she said, "you don't have to …"
"Yes," Hannah insisted imperiously, "draw Scully."
She was surprised to hear Hannah referring to her by the name Mulder had given her, but Mulder was already sifting through the pencils, his laughing hazel eyes darting from her to the pile and back. He settled on a drawing pencil a shade darker than his beloved #2s, then glanced at Scully again mischievously before he bent over the pad. She bit her tongue, wondering what her caricature would look like as he began to outline the shape of her face.
It took her only a few seconds to recognize that he was drawing her expression as he must often see her. Her caricature looked at him skeptically, head tilted back and one eyebrow arched in challenge. She was relieved to see that the expression on her face was amused, and not angry. The words he'd said to her the day before -- 'I'd know your face anywhere, Scully' -- echoed in her memory. As Mulder's hand stilled on the page, she could barely raise her eyes from what he'd drawn in simple lines. She didn't think of herself as being beautiful, but Mulder … the woman that he'd drawn was beautiful.
"Mulder," she whispered, choked up. "Thanks."
He reached over and touched her cheek. "I got you big time," he said. She covered his hand with hers and nodded, too touched to say anything more.
"Now, draw me a tiger!" Hannah demanded.
Scully let go of his hand, just catching one last glimpse of how Mulder saw her before he turned the page.
~*~
Part 12
Author:
comice aka Anjou (Anjou@rocketmail.com)Posting Date: December 2007/January 2008
Rating: R for language and sexuality; M for Mature readers
Classification: Mulder/Scully, UST/MSR, AU
Archive: No archival until the story is completed, please. I'll be submitting to Ephemeral and Gossamer myself.
Spoilers: Through Two Fathers/One Son (S6), then AU. In other words, no Arcadia and beyond. Mytharc-y.
Disclaimer: All X-Files personnel belong to 1013 and Fox. All other elements are mine.
Author's Note: Sorry for the late posting to Ephemeral yesterday, and thanks to Scott for resolving the problem so expeditiously.
Also, it's back to work for me on January 2nd, which means that new parts will either be posted first thing in the morning (~ 8:00 EST) or at the end of the day (8:00 pm EST). Thanks!
Happy New Year!
Daily posts can be read on my fic journal:
anjoufic, as well as Ephemeral and other XF fic sites. The whole tale will be archived at my website, No Other … , maintained by the generous dtg, when it is completed.As always, thanks to my sister and editrix, Suzanne, for her support.
Summary: Cast your memory back to the dark days of Season 6, to the period immediately following the confrontation between Mulder and Scully in the Gunmen's Office. It is late winter, dark and cold, the landscape obscured and transformed by snow and ice. One must step carefully, for the very ground can be treacherous. This is a lesson Mulder and Scully have already learned when the pristine snow in Antartica yielded a long-buried secret. But the winter can hold many secrets, and could tell many tales, if it so chose.
This is but one.
~*~
Mulder was actually surprisingly good at amusing a four-year-old, although Scully wasn't really sure who was amusing whom to watch him playing with Hannah. After watching Sesame Street and a few other more dubiously educational programs, Mulder had turned off the TV set and taught Hannah how to play Go Fish. Hannah was still in her nightgown, looking pale and tired. Mulder had piled pillows behind her to prop her into a sitting position and was sprawled across the foot of her bed, patiently teaching her how to play War. Earlier, he had tried to teach her how to whistle, which had been interesting, since Mulder could barely whistle himself.
Outside, the snow showed no sign of stopping, although it had slowed down considerably. Weather reports were now predicting that it would continue into the early evening, with final accumulations somewhere in the two-foot range. They had enough food to last another day, but Scully hoped that they wouldn't need to be here longer than the next morning.
Her research on Hannah was tough slogging. She'd ascertained that Hannah was considered to be four years old, having been 'born' in February of 1995. If Mulder's hypothesis was right, and Hannah was her daughter, that would mean that Hannah's pre-natal development had been somehow artificially accelerated. However, the records Scully had only contained minimal information about Hannah's early years. There was a basic history, with information about when Hannah had achieved certain developmental milestones. Most of those seemed to be later than expected, a fact that Scully was attributing to her abnormal gestational period. In some ways, Hannah's early development was analogous to that of a very premature infant, but looking at Hannah now, Scully could see no evidence of prematurity. Hannah at four would be considered tall and slender for her 'age'; despite her odd socialization in a clinical setting, her vocabulary and conversational skills were high.
The limited medical history indicated that she'd 'born' as one of four in her group, but from what Scully could glean, they were not clones. There seemed to be subtle embryonic differences between the four girls, which were referenced in the experimental documentation. Scully was forwarding files of RFLPs to the Gunmen for confirmation of variances from the typical genome. With no access to a high-speed internet connection like the one available at work, there was no way that she could verify her thoughts on genetic alteration in a timely manner. It seemed from the limited documentation that she had, however, that the alteration had been made to the germ cells that had been used to make the zygotes, but she couldn't be sure.
She sighed. It was all so very frustrating. If Mulder was right, and the ultimate goal of the cloning experiments had been to make a hybrid resistant to Purity, then Hannah might be an unusually successful example of that process. Scully had carefully examined her lymph glands this morning, and not only was there no evidence of the green nodule that Emily had had, Hannah's lymph glands didn't seem to be swollen, except for under her jaw and at the base of her ears. There was also the fact that it appeared that her three siblings, all girls, were dead. They'd all undergone the same course of dubious treatment that Hannah had survived. The records referred to those 'experiments' as unsuccessful, and Scully found the use of scientific terminology to cursorily describe the deaths maddening, and had to repeatedly force herself to focus on Hannah's records. She could do nothing for Hannah's sisters – at least, not at the moment.
Reading Hannah's records was like picking up a book and realizing halfway into it that you were reading the last part of a trilogy. Scully had no proof of the why or how of Hannah's creation, just dizzying piles of data about her responses to obliquely described experimentation. It seemed possible that this experimentation had not begun until the past year of her life, and she could not say for certain what exactly had been done to Hannah. In addition, she could find no record of the common pediatric vaccinations that Hannah should have been given in the first years of her life included in the perfunctory history attached to her experimental records. Nor was Hannah herself a reliable witness to what had been done to her, which meant that Scully had to consider a far wider universe of possible ills than the norm. She simply couldn't assume that Hannah had been appropriately vaccinated, nor could she decipher the mysterious designations for what appeared to be sequences of something vaccination-like that appeared repeatedly in Hannah's records of the past year.
She sighed again, and Mulder looked over at her from the bed. In honor of their snow day, he was wearing his black jeans coupled with one of his work shirts. His long feet were bare, and his hair was flopping over his brow.
"You need a break, Scully," he said.
She eyebrowed him. "And, it's such a nice day for a walk, too," she answered sardonically.
"It is?" Hannah asked, puzzled.
"Oh, snow walks are the best," Mulder answered. "It's so quiet outside and everything looks so pretty." He wrapped Hannah up in the extra blanket from the closet and carried her to the window, pulling back the curtains. "Look at the trees, and the snow on the chain link fence over there."
"It's very pretty," Hannah agreed, putting her hand on the glass and then withdrawing it quickly, "but isn't it really cold?"
"Yes," Scully answered her, stretching up from the chair and wandering over to the window. "But it's nice if you know you're going to come inside and have something warm to drink."
"Like that soup in a cup?" Hannah asked dubiously. She had protested having soup for breakfast, but had rejected the instant oatmeal in a cup outright. Mulder had insisted that she needed to eat something warm, so soup it was.
Scully smiled, reaching up to Hannah to smooth her hair back and surreptitiously feel her forehead. It was still warm, but not worryingly so. "No," she said, "like hot chocolate …" Hannah looked intrigued, "with melted marshmallows."
"That sounds much better than soup," she said enthusiastically. "Do we have any of that?"
Mulder laughed. "Yes," he said.
Hannah sat patiently at the table waiting while Mulder got milk out of the snow-packed Styrofoam cooler and warmed it in the same electric hot pot he'd used earlier in the day. Her continuing quiet was a contrast to her nearly constant chattering from when they'd first met, and was a clear indicator that she was not feeling well.
"Hannah, did you drink milk when you were at the hospital?" Scully asked suddenly. It had just occurred to her that allergies were an immunological response.
"Yes," Hannah answered, puzzled.
"Did it look like the kind of white milk Mulder is using," she asked, "or was it more beige?"
"It was white," Hannah said, and Scully nodded, lost in thought, eyes sliding back to the computer screen.
While they sipped their cocoa, Mulder got coloring books, crayons and colored pencils out of the bags of stuff he'd bought on the first trip to the supermarket. Scully smirked into her cup as she watched him explaining to Hannah how to color. He demonstrated with a double panel drawing of kids playing on a playground. He was coloring the left side of the double picture, and Hannah was supposed to be coloring the right side, but as time went on, she was spending more time correcting Mulder than she was on coloring her own part. She began to rummage through the crayons and hand him appropriate colors, emphatically telling him what went where. Mulder dutifully complied, hiding a grin and occasionally hectoring Hannah to color her own side of the picture. It was hardly a surprise that he colored outside of the lines.
Scully absently sorted through the assortment of coloring books that Mulder had bought: playground scenes, with simple words; animals in their habitats; a book about families; a book of numbers and letters with simple words and their illustrations; a tablet of blank sheets. The one at the bottom of the pile was filled with complex outlined mosaics, some like stained glass windows, others like the elaborate floors and wall panels that one saw in museums. She glanced up at Mulder to see him watching her. The last book was clearly for her, but she picked up the one about animals in their habitats and began to flip through it.
"Whatcha lookin' for?" Hannah asked curiously. She was sitting on Mulder's right leg, still wrapped in the spare blanket from the closet.
"Pictures of foxes," Scully answered sweetly.
"Hey …" Mulder warned, while Hannah looked puzzled.
She found what she was looking for and began to sort through the crayons which Mulder had unceremoniously dumped in a pile in the middle of the table, along with an assortment of colored pencils.
Hannah watched her as she colored the eyes of the fox in with a green crayon, then lightly ran over it with a brown one. "See," she said to Mulder, "she stays in the lines."
Mulder rolled his eyes at Scully, and she stuck out her tongue at him, finding a burnt orange crayon to start coloring in the fox's fur.
"OK," Mulder said, "but my way is more artistic."
Scully raised an eyebrow at him, and fished around in the unruly pile for a black crayon. She looked at the fox in the drawing and then outlined the animal freehand on the empty page next to it.
"Wow!" Hannah said, impressed. "She made another fox!"
"She's just copying the drawing," Mulder protested. "That's not that hard."
"Oh, right," Scully said, laughing.
"Your turn, Mulder," Hannah announced. She was flipping through their coloring book looking for a blank page, but there were no pages that didn't have a drawing on them already. Scully helpfully handed over the tablet of blank pages. This time, Mulder stuck out his tongue at her.
"Fine, fine," Mulder grumbled. "Fine. Hannah, I need you to move you over here."
"Oh, making room," Scully said.
"Art needs room for expression," Mulder loftily responded.
"I'll bet," Scully said, as Mulder began sorting through crayons and pencils. "You're just making a bigger mess," she protested.
"Scully," he said, waving a pencil at her, "cramping." She rolled her eyes, as Mulder looked thoughtful and began to draw something. "Wait a minute," he said, crossing through that drawing, "I need to start over."
Scully smothered a giggle as Hannah encouraged Mulder, then watched as he began to draw a face on the pad. Her jaw dropped as he began to fill in the small features, until in just a few lines, Mulder had drawn a rough caricature of Hannah.
"That's ME!" Hannah said breathlessly. "You drew ME!"
Mulder was definitely smirking.
"Mulder …" she broke off, trying to look at the drawing again, which Hannah had scooped up to stare at. "That's really … where did you learn how to do that?" As soon as the words left her mouth, she remembered Mulder during the case that sent Patterson to jail for life, surrounded by drawings of gargoyles.
Mulder shrugged, "Well, one day I was coloring outside the lines and …"
She threw her crayon at his head.
"Ow," he said, then protested, "You've seen me draw things before."
"Doodling doesn't count, Mulder."
"It does too."
"Now draw her!" Hannah demanded, turning the page. "Right here."
Mulder looked at Scully over Hannah's head. "Right there," he said slowly, and Scully blushed, wondering what exactly he was imagining in his mind's eye.
"Oh, Mulder," she said, "you don't have to …"
"Yes," Hannah insisted imperiously, "draw Scully."
She was surprised to hear Hannah referring to her by the name Mulder had given her, but Mulder was already sifting through the pencils, his laughing hazel eyes darting from her to the pile and back. He settled on a drawing pencil a shade darker than his beloved #2s, then glanced at Scully again mischievously before he bent over the pad. She bit her tongue, wondering what her caricature would look like as he began to outline the shape of her face.
It took her only a few seconds to recognize that he was drawing her expression as he must often see her. Her caricature looked at him skeptically, head tilted back and one eyebrow arched in challenge. She was relieved to see that the expression on her face was amused, and not angry. The words he'd said to her the day before -- 'I'd know your face anywhere, Scully' -- echoed in her memory. As Mulder's hand stilled on the page, she could barely raise her eyes from what he'd drawn in simple lines. She didn't think of herself as being beautiful, but Mulder … the woman that he'd drawn was beautiful.
"Mulder," she whispered, choked up. "Thanks."
He reached over and touched her cheek. "I got you big time," he said. She covered his hand with hers and nodded, too touched to say anything more.
"Now, draw me a tiger!" Hannah demanded.
Scully let go of his hand, just catching one last glimpse of how Mulder saw her before he turned the page.
~*~
Part 12
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-01-01 05:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-03 12:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-01 08:05 pm (UTC)Pear Tree
Silver dust
lifted from the earth,
higher than my arms reach,
you have mounted,
O, silver,
higher than my arms reach,
you front us with great mass;
no flower ever opened
so staunch a white leaf,
no flower ever parted silver
from such rare silver;
O, white pear,
your flower-tufts
thick on the branch
bring summer and white fruits
in their purple hearts.
H.D.
Happy New Year. Thank you for writing and sharing your talent.
no subject
Date: 2008-01-03 12:42 am (UTC)Happy New Year!
no subject
Date: 2008-01-02 12:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-03 01:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-02 09:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-03 01:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-03 07:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-03 11:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-04 07:44 am (UTC)Thanks!
Date: 2008-01-04 11:57 pm (UTC)