for The Smallville Nostalgia Challenge
5/12/11 11:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: Time Enough
Author: roxy
Pairing: none
Rating: G
Summary: Clark thinks about life and makes an omelet. *shrugs*
Written for The Smallville Nostalgia Challenge
Warnings: no warnings, sorry to say. Folks claim they'll read pornless stuff by me. *eyeballs ya'll.* let's see….
It was perfect, this sunny day, just the kind of day Clark liked to take off by himself, think a little, just chill out some. Even better he had the place to himself, and that felt…good.
He grabbed a few pieces of toast and jammed them in his mouth, took the rest of the coffee left in the pot and headed out. He walked from the end of the milking sheds to the back of the orchard, where tiny green apples and pears were just starting to swell on the branches. He leaned against a little tree, gulped hot coffee and watched the sun come up, the deep pinks washing the skies and slowly the turning the lemon yellow of early morning. Taking his time, he walked around his mom's flower garden, past banks of marigolds and cosmos—some almost as tall as he was, waving in the turbulence of his passing. That was something he loved about his mom, that she planted them for no other reason than they looked nice in a vase and goldfinches loved their seeds.
He walked through the hay paths that marked the edges of the "serious" garden, filled with stocky, heavy, plants thick with green tomatoes and rows of fat pea plants bearing tons of tiny yellow flowers and zucchini already trying to break out of their squares. He counted tons of orange blossoms on the vines and reminded himself to bring a basket in the morning to pick a bunch—they were so good battered and fried and--he stopped for a second and just inhaled. This was his magic time, one of his magic times. This part of the day, when it was no one but him and his thoughts and the vibrant wonder of growing things—life, without problems, without worry, without pain. For a few minutes anyway.
He smiled at the thought and breathed deep. Fresh air filled his lungs and the light breeze sweeping through the yard stroked his face like delicate fingers. He closed his eyes and imagined them, long and slim, the pads soft, unmarked by callouses…
He exhaled softly, and drew the breath back in, slow, deep. His nose tingled pleasantly with the sharp scent of the tomatoes and the sweet smell of the flowers—and of course, the ever-present stink of summer—the acidic scent of cow-crap. Still, it was this combination of scents, all of them, that made his heart beat just a bit faster, made his chest bloom warm in a way his friends could never understand. Being a farmer's son, living on a farm, wasn't a hardship for him. He didn't envy other kids their cars, their million and one games or designer clothes—not when they were deprived of this, of knowing where you stood and who you were. Sure, he was still learning that, of course, but he felt no rush to know it all now. It would come in its time.
He strolled along the post and rail fence that led back to the porch and the kitchen door, dragging his palm over the sun warmed wood, giving the rails a slight shake every so often, a critical eye.
At the end of the run, Clark leaned his elbows on the top rail and watched Mr. Martin bring water out to his pigs, Mr. Martin who was three farms over and about twenty miles away…Clark sighed. There was so much he didn't know about himself that worrying about the sort of things his friends did seemed so…pointless. Kind of petty. And there was something else now, something bigger than why and what he was. This amazing…person, who'd come out of nowhere. Clark knew, he'd felt it, when he touched him, when he talked to him, that he'd understand. There was a link there, he was sure. Clark had the feeling that Lex was as much a stranger in a strange land as he was. Lex had said he envisioned a friendship of legends…maybe, Clark thought. But friendship didn't wake a person up in the middle of the night from dreams that left them gasping on the edge of a deep dark wave of uncertainty and fear, muddled and muddied with want.
Clark sighed; scrubbed at his face like he could scrub away his doubts and hopes. There was time to figure this all out, time enough to think about this—later. He patted the fence rail and headed on to the house. He made more coffee and put together ingredients for omelets. When Mom and Dad came back, he'd have lunch ready for them. He wondered what Lex was doing and thought about calling him, inviting him…he wasn't afraid of what his parents would think about his feelings for this almost-mostly-not stranger. After all, who knew what was right for him? What was his normal, after all? Being theoretically gay--pretty insignificant thing compared to his not really being human. He snorted, shook his head and bent to pull the frying pan out of the stove drawer. All that was just more stuff he'd take the time to look at, some day that wasn't this one.
Right now, he had omelets to make and parents to butter up and Lex would be there when he was ready.
5-12-2011
Author: roxy
Pairing: none
Rating: G
Summary: Clark thinks about life and makes an omelet. *shrugs*
Written for The Smallville Nostalgia Challenge
Warnings: no warnings, sorry to say. Folks claim they'll read pornless stuff by me. *eyeballs ya'll.* let's see….
It was perfect, this sunny day, just the kind of day Clark liked to take off by himself, think a little, just chill out some. Even better he had the place to himself, and that felt…good.
He grabbed a few pieces of toast and jammed them in his mouth, took the rest of the coffee left in the pot and headed out. He walked from the end of the milking sheds to the back of the orchard, where tiny green apples and pears were just starting to swell on the branches. He leaned against a little tree, gulped hot coffee and watched the sun come up, the deep pinks washing the skies and slowly the turning the lemon yellow of early morning. Taking his time, he walked around his mom's flower garden, past banks of marigolds and cosmos—some almost as tall as he was, waving in the turbulence of his passing. That was something he loved about his mom, that she planted them for no other reason than they looked nice in a vase and goldfinches loved their seeds.
He walked through the hay paths that marked the edges of the "serious" garden, filled with stocky, heavy, plants thick with green tomatoes and rows of fat pea plants bearing tons of tiny yellow flowers and zucchini already trying to break out of their squares. He counted tons of orange blossoms on the vines and reminded himself to bring a basket in the morning to pick a bunch—they were so good battered and fried and--he stopped for a second and just inhaled. This was his magic time, one of his magic times. This part of the day, when it was no one but him and his thoughts and the vibrant wonder of growing things—life, without problems, without worry, without pain. For a few minutes anyway.
He smiled at the thought and breathed deep. Fresh air filled his lungs and the light breeze sweeping through the yard stroked his face like delicate fingers. He closed his eyes and imagined them, long and slim, the pads soft, unmarked by callouses…
He exhaled softly, and drew the breath back in, slow, deep. His nose tingled pleasantly with the sharp scent of the tomatoes and the sweet smell of the flowers—and of course, the ever-present stink of summer—the acidic scent of cow-crap. Still, it was this combination of scents, all of them, that made his heart beat just a bit faster, made his chest bloom warm in a way his friends could never understand. Being a farmer's son, living on a farm, wasn't a hardship for him. He didn't envy other kids their cars, their million and one games or designer clothes—not when they were deprived of this, of knowing where you stood and who you were. Sure, he was still learning that, of course, but he felt no rush to know it all now. It would come in its time.
He strolled along the post and rail fence that led back to the porch and the kitchen door, dragging his palm over the sun warmed wood, giving the rails a slight shake every so often, a critical eye.
At the end of the run, Clark leaned his elbows on the top rail and watched Mr. Martin bring water out to his pigs, Mr. Martin who was three farms over and about twenty miles away…Clark sighed. There was so much he didn't know about himself that worrying about the sort of things his friends did seemed so…pointless. Kind of petty. And there was something else now, something bigger than why and what he was. This amazing…person, who'd come out of nowhere. Clark knew, he'd felt it, when he touched him, when he talked to him, that he'd understand. There was a link there, he was sure. Clark had the feeling that Lex was as much a stranger in a strange land as he was. Lex had said he envisioned a friendship of legends…maybe, Clark thought. But friendship didn't wake a person up in the middle of the night from dreams that left them gasping on the edge of a deep dark wave of uncertainty and fear, muddled and muddied with want.
Clark sighed; scrubbed at his face like he could scrub away his doubts and hopes. There was time to figure this all out, time enough to think about this—later. He patted the fence rail and headed on to the house. He made more coffee and put together ingredients for omelets. When Mom and Dad came back, he'd have lunch ready for them. He wondered what Lex was doing and thought about calling him, inviting him…he wasn't afraid of what his parents would think about his feelings for this almost-mostly-not stranger. After all, who knew what was right for him? What was his normal, after all? Being theoretically gay--pretty insignificant thing compared to his not really being human. He snorted, shook his head and bent to pull the frying pan out of the stove drawer. All that was just more stuff he'd take the time to look at, some day that wasn't this one.
Right now, he had omelets to make and parents to butter up and Lex would be there when he was ready.
5-12-2011
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
5/16/11 12:07 am (UTC)