![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Aug. 15th, 2004 08:39 amI must rec a rather marvelous story by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lilysunshine1, called Hit the Floor. H/D, rated R.
Harry's seventh year at Hogwarts takes him out of his well-known boundaries both physically and mentally. A very interesting piece, and extremely thought-provoking on many levels. Please read it.
( How to explain the appeal of this story... )
And now... why getting up early is so rewarding sometimes...
8:00 AM on a Sunday morning has something this time around that I don't expect, certainly not in the midst of a Sacramento summer. The sky is overcast, completely blanketed by a smooth grey layer of clouds, and my neighborhood is silent. Seems empty, like every one of the houses has no one in it. I'm sitting on the cement step in my thin pajama pants, a coat that is much too small tight around my shoulders and baring my wrists to the cold. I can hear the lightrail rushing by down the street, out of sight, and there are a particular couple of birds that have made it their business to flutter about and chirp in the redbud tree. I find myself thankful that there are so many trees on my street, at least one in front of every house. I am half expecting my cat to come flying out of the bushes, intent on devouring those birds as he often enjoys, but it seems that he is curled warmly on a couch somewhere, snoozing away this early hour. A breeze whispers by, shaking the tree leaves, and it smells faintly of toasted cinnamon bagels, which is odd because Mum has not yet gone to Noah's to buy bagels. Like I'm sensing my future, a pocket of air from a later moment this morning when my bagel is toasted. If I stand by the hedge, the air changes to a gentle piney scent. There is one woman walking, a spark of life in the quiet, and I think we have something in common, even though I don't know her. She smiles as she passes. I slip back into my musings, thinking that this reminds me oddly of the sleepy little town Schluchsee in Germany's Black Forest, when I came outside by the lake in the morning and there was no one around. The quiet, the stillness, was complete, except for the rustle of the trees at the edge of the lake.
Eventually the cold becomes too much for bare toes and thin pajama pants, and it pushes me back indoors. It seems there is something to be said for waking up so early, something which I have forgotten sometime during all my late nights awake. My last thought as I close the door is a hope for rain today.
lilysunshine1, called Hit the Floor. H/D, rated R. Harry's seventh year at Hogwarts takes him out of his well-known boundaries both physically and mentally. A very interesting piece, and extremely thought-provoking on many levels. Please read it.
( How to explain the appeal of this story... )
And now... why getting up early is so rewarding sometimes...
8:00 AM on a Sunday morning has something this time around that I don't expect, certainly not in the midst of a Sacramento summer. The sky is overcast, completely blanketed by a smooth grey layer of clouds, and my neighborhood is silent. Seems empty, like every one of the houses has no one in it. I'm sitting on the cement step in my thin pajama pants, a coat that is much too small tight around my shoulders and baring my wrists to the cold. I can hear the lightrail rushing by down the street, out of sight, and there are a particular couple of birds that have made it their business to flutter about and chirp in the redbud tree. I find myself thankful that there are so many trees on my street, at least one in front of every house. I am half expecting my cat to come flying out of the bushes, intent on devouring those birds as he often enjoys, but it seems that he is curled warmly on a couch somewhere, snoozing away this early hour. A breeze whispers by, shaking the tree leaves, and it smells faintly of toasted cinnamon bagels, which is odd because Mum has not yet gone to Noah's to buy bagels. Like I'm sensing my future, a pocket of air from a later moment this morning when my bagel is toasted. If I stand by the hedge, the air changes to a gentle piney scent. There is one woman walking, a spark of life in the quiet, and I think we have something in common, even though I don't know her. She smiles as she passes. I slip back into my musings, thinking that this reminds me oddly of the sleepy little town Schluchsee in Germany's Black Forest, when I came outside by the lake in the morning and there was no one around. The quiet, the stillness, was complete, except for the rustle of the trees at the edge of the lake.
Eventually the cold becomes too much for bare toes and thin pajama pants, and it pushes me back indoors. It seems there is something to be said for waking up so early, something which I have forgotten sometime during all my late nights awake. My last thought as I close the door is a hope for rain today.
