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morrobay1990Title: Wyoming
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
morrobay1990
Genre: post canon/1991
Word count: 250
Disclaimer: Jack & Ennis are AP's.
♥ Jack
There was a Wyoming that he loved.
If he were a deep thinker, able to express his thoughts, he’d describe the beauty of the Wyoming that he loved...although he didn’t even realize it was love he felt, would only miss it if it changed from what he knew.
He’d describe a sky so high, so blue (he might drown looking up) and cloudless that the blue actually seemed able to make a man happy.
Native Wyoming trees – lodgepole pine, Colorado pinyon, ponderosa pine - taken for granted in an everyday world would, upon his closer inspection, be seen for the miracles they were, gathering in thickets to form emerald clusters, or standing in rows, shoulder to shoulder, creating a perfectly imperfect climbing line that followed the mountain up and up.
Indigenous flowers and grasses too numerous to remember rose up to grace a patch of bare dirt with shades of periwinkle and sapphire and cobalt, ruby and amber, paper-white and coral, or would gather together in such a riotous and raucous show of color that they would put to shame the crown jewels of kings and queens.
Creeks and ponds, rivers and streams, flowing and rushing like a highway, or still and muddy like a country road, all had their own beauty to offer even the most casual observer.
It was what he saw every day and tried, in his way, not to take it for granted...because as he well knew, once something was truly lost there was no bringing it back.
Author:
morrobay1990Genre: post canon/1991
Word count: 250
Disclaimer: Jack & Ennis are AP's.
♥ Jack
There was a Wyoming that he loved.
If he were a deep thinker, able to express his thoughts, he’d describe the beauty of the Wyoming that he loved...although he didn’t even realize it was love he felt, would only miss it if it changed from what he knew.
He’d describe a sky so high, so blue (he might drown looking up) and cloudless that the blue actually seemed able to make a man happy.
Native Wyoming trees – lodgepole pine, Colorado pinyon, ponderosa pine - taken for granted in an everyday world would, upon his closer inspection, be seen for the miracles they were, gathering in thickets to form emerald clusters, or standing in rows, shoulder to shoulder, creating a perfectly imperfect climbing line that followed the mountain up and up.
Indigenous flowers and grasses too numerous to remember rose up to grace a patch of bare dirt with shades of periwinkle and sapphire and cobalt, ruby and amber, paper-white and coral, or would gather together in such a riotous and raucous show of color that they would put to shame the crown jewels of kings and queens.
Creeks and ponds, rivers and streams, flowing and rushing like a highway, or still and muddy like a country road, all had their own beauty to offer even the most casual observer.
It was what he saw every day and tried, in his way, not to take it for granted...because as he well knew, once something was truly lost there was no bringing it back.
