Poetry Spam.

Praise Song
by Barbara Crooker

Praise the light of late November,
the thin sunlight that goes deep in the bones.
Praise the crows chattering in the oak trees;
though they are clothed in night, they do not
despair. Praise what little there's left:
the small boats of milkweed pods, husks, hulls,
shells, the architecture of trees. Praise the meadow
of dried weeds: yarrow, goldenrod, chicory,
the remains of summer. Praise the blue sky
that hasn't cracked yet. Praise the sun slipping down
behind the beechnuts, praise the quilt of leaves
that covers the grass: Scarlet Oak, Sweet Gum,
Sugar Maple. Though darkness gathers, praise our crazy
fallen world; it's all we have, and it's never enough.

Realization:

Viggo has got to be one of THE most slashable humans on the planet. Ever.

Am watching Crimson Tide, of all the random movies, and a moment just passed between him and Denzel Washington and my brain just fizzed out.


hOoooooOOoooo... Guh.

I want someone to write me Hunter/Weps, and sooooon. XD

FMA doubledrabble - "Steam"

Right. Not NaNo, but it had to be done 'cause I couldn't fit this into the story until like... way later anyway. So, here you are, a little Roy/Ed because... Heh. There are people out there who'll like it.

Title: Steam.
Author: Rune
Words: 200
Notes: Totally unbeta'd. Sorry guys.
Summary: Umbrellas are over rated anyway.

( He was useless in the rain, completely and utterly. )