The little AU: Falling Leaves: The Birthday
The little AU: Falling Leaves: The Birthday
slashfairy
~~
Karl wonders, sometimes, if it makes much sense, him staying.
He's not the artistic one, not the creative one, nor the elegant one, nor the pretty one, nor does he somehow manage to get world-wide attention for the causes he supports. There are times when these things, these self-judgments (for they are not the impressions his men have of him) weigh him down, and sometimes he longs to let them pull him under, once and for all.
Then he exhales, and comes up for air, and inhales, and all of life makes sense again.
The seasons will turn, and things will change and change again.
They'll come together and separate and return, in twos and threes in varying waves and patterns.
And in the end, it will be the sense he makes of it that he carries with himself. And that, he determines, time after time, is the sense that it is good- with all its faults, this life he has is good.
So it's with a grin and a lighter heart that he sits down to read The Hobbit and remind himself just how he got so lucky.
In a hole in the ground there lived a Hobbit. Not a dirty, nasty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.
previously: Journey
next: Tea
slashfairy
~~
Karl wonders, sometimes, if it makes much sense, him staying.
He's not the artistic one, not the creative one, nor the elegant one, nor the pretty one, nor does he somehow manage to get world-wide attention for the causes he supports. There are times when these things, these self-judgments (for they are not the impressions his men have of him) weigh him down, and sometimes he longs to let them pull him under, once and for all.
Then he exhales, and comes up for air, and inhales, and all of life makes sense again.
The seasons will turn, and things will change and change again.
They'll come together and separate and return, in twos and threes in varying waves and patterns.
And in the end, it will be the sense he makes of it that he carries with himself. And that, he determines, time after time, is the sense that it is good- with all its faults, this life he has is good.
So it's with a grin and a lighter heart that he sits down to read The Hobbit and remind himself just how he got so lucky.
In a hole in the ground there lived a Hobbit. Not a dirty, nasty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.
previously: Journey
next: Tea