[Hetalia OC] "Colorado Spirit" Colorado
Title: "Colorado Spirit"
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Character(s): Colorado
Word Count: 699
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia, but I do own my characterizations of the states used in my stories since they are not canon characters.
A/N: Needed to write something light, since I just finished watching HBO's "The Pacific", I had an inspiration for an America and Japan fic, but too late at night to delve into the emotions I want to write about, so you get Colorado gushing about her land. This is a continuation of my head canon of the personification of the states in the United States of America.
Colorado is a crossroads of the American West, there meets the Southwest, the Great Plains, and the Mountain West. It was a land of contrasts, and the one who embodied it all loved every inch of it.
She loved the arid soil of the southwestern parts. She loved the how the dust would billow staining everything red. It was that red that had given her a name in the first place. Standing on the edge of his territory, young Mexico by the hand, Spain had called her Colorado, colored red, red rocks, red soil. Even though she was just a thought, she had a name. Those sandstone cliffs that were the remnants of a mountain range hundreds of thousands of years old, gave her identity. Those red rocks can be seen in places like Garden of the Gods, she loves that place. Sometimes she climbs up as high as she can and perches like an eagle, watching generations of children scurry up and down those ancient stones.
Colorado vaguely remembers the early people of the land. At the time she was nothing more than a shade, a passing idea, a feeling of place. The Anasazi of Mesa Verde had crafted intricate homes in the shadow of cliffs. Her land proved too much in the end and they moved south, to land that would later belong to New Mexico. More came, Spain’s people and Mexico’s. They brought their sheep and their horses to graze the sparse landscape. Their homes were temporary and transient. The other native peoples like the Comanche and the Arapaho, wanted to keep her territories for themselves.
She remembered the pounding of the hooves of bison and elk, sounds that she would never again hear in as great of numbers. The bison ruled the plains, the elk ruled the mountains.
Oh how she loves the mountains. They are her backbone and her heart. Most of her people live in their shadow, in cities like Denver, Fort Collins, and Colorado Springs. Photographs of her almost always depict their glory. She smiles at the memory of a man named Long who thought that they were a god send after their weeks on the plains.
She loves to venture into them, to smell Ponderosa and feel the soft needles of the Douglas. She chatters with the chickaree, and sings with the sparrows. Listens to elk bugles and mountain lion calls. She listens to the wind blow through the trees, she has heard this sound in other places, but the wind through the spruce and the pine are unique. Her land is beautiful, perhaps not the most beautiful in the world, but certainly the most beautiful to her. Rivers that grace the rest of America being in the Rockies, her mountains, her heart. They flow east and west, some to form giant canyons that give other states their glories, some feed into rivers that formed the backbone of American commerce. Her mountains made her happy, they even gave her a chance to rile Utah over who had the best skiing.
Below the mountains are the vast Great Plains, that almost seem like they should belong to someone else. Her people have struggled for years and years to make life out of soil that seems content to just grow grasses. Yet they stay, romanced by the open range, the elbow room, the freedom.
That is one of the things she loves most about her land. The freedom. The sky is open, the range is open, one can see for miles and miles, with nothing blocking one’s view. On a clear day she can see all the way to Wyoming in the north, Kansas in the east, New Mexico in the south. Their skies connect, a sky like nowhere else in the world.
Colorado could go on forever, speaking of what she loves about her home. She could speak of the simplicity of the Lark Bunting, the beauty of a Rocky Mountain Columbine. She could speak of the grace of a Blue Spruce and the majesty of Bighorn Sheep. She could speak of all of these things but it would never be enough. For who can fully speak of all that they love?
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Character(s): Colorado
Word Count: 699
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia, but I do own my characterizations of the states used in my stories since they are not canon characters.
A/N: Needed to write something light, since I just finished watching HBO's "The Pacific", I had an inspiration for an America and Japan fic, but too late at night to delve into the emotions I want to write about, so you get Colorado gushing about her land. This is a continuation of my head canon of the personification of the states in the United States of America.
Colorado is a crossroads of the American West, there meets the Southwest, the Great Plains, and the Mountain West. It was a land of contrasts, and the one who embodied it all loved every inch of it.
She loved the arid soil of the southwestern parts. She loved the how the dust would billow staining everything red. It was that red that had given her a name in the first place. Standing on the edge of his territory, young Mexico by the hand, Spain had called her Colorado, colored red, red rocks, red soil. Even though she was just a thought, she had a name. Those sandstone cliffs that were the remnants of a mountain range hundreds of thousands of years old, gave her identity. Those red rocks can be seen in places like Garden of the Gods, she loves that place. Sometimes she climbs up as high as she can and perches like an eagle, watching generations of children scurry up and down those ancient stones.
Colorado vaguely remembers the early people of the land. At the time she was nothing more than a shade, a passing idea, a feeling of place. The Anasazi of Mesa Verde had crafted intricate homes in the shadow of cliffs. Her land proved too much in the end and they moved south, to land that would later belong to New Mexico. More came, Spain’s people and Mexico’s. They brought their sheep and their horses to graze the sparse landscape. Their homes were temporary and transient. The other native peoples like the Comanche and the Arapaho, wanted to keep her territories for themselves.
She remembered the pounding of the hooves of bison and elk, sounds that she would never again hear in as great of numbers. The bison ruled the plains, the elk ruled the mountains.
Oh how she loves the mountains. They are her backbone and her heart. Most of her people live in their shadow, in cities like Denver, Fort Collins, and Colorado Springs. Photographs of her almost always depict their glory. She smiles at the memory of a man named Long who thought that they were a god send after their weeks on the plains.
She loves to venture into them, to smell Ponderosa and feel the soft needles of the Douglas. She chatters with the chickaree, and sings with the sparrows. Listens to elk bugles and mountain lion calls. She listens to the wind blow through the trees, she has heard this sound in other places, but the wind through the spruce and the pine are unique. Her land is beautiful, perhaps not the most beautiful in the world, but certainly the most beautiful to her. Rivers that grace the rest of America being in the Rockies, her mountains, her heart. They flow east and west, some to form giant canyons that give other states their glories, some feed into rivers that formed the backbone of American commerce. Her mountains made her happy, they even gave her a chance to rile Utah over who had the best skiing.
Below the mountains are the vast Great Plains, that almost seem like they should belong to someone else. Her people have struggled for years and years to make life out of soil that seems content to just grow grasses. Yet they stay, romanced by the open range, the elbow room, the freedom.
That is one of the things she loves most about her land. The freedom. The sky is open, the range is open, one can see for miles and miles, with nothing blocking one’s view. On a clear day she can see all the way to Wyoming in the north, Kansas in the east, New Mexico in the south. Their skies connect, a sky like nowhere else in the world.
Colorado could go on forever, speaking of what she loves about her home. She could speak of the simplicity of the Lark Bunting, the beauty of a Rocky Mountain Columbine. She could speak of the grace of a Blue Spruce and the majesty of Bighorn Sheep. She could speak of all of these things but it would never be enough. For who can fully speak of all that they love?