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wisdomeagleTitle: "Natural Theology"
Fandom: Mister Rogers' Neighborhood
Pairing: Henrietta Pussycat/X the Owl
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Fred Rogers', not mine.
Notes: A stocking stuffer for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jlh in Yuletide 2007. This was the last-minute revision that barely made it in on time.
Summary: Mystical magical treehouse tour.
Wordcount: 499
Natural Theology
X doesn't believe in Fred, but Henrietta's not given up hope. The tree house is her home, and the Neighborhood the only place she's been, but through her door she can sometimes see a giant-sized world, people whose names she doesn't know, and, once in awhile, fish. These things point, as does the trolley ding, to a world beyond the world, a place that X would never dream of because his day vision is so dim, his night vision non-existent. But there is a Fred. There must be.
The strongest clues are not the dreams (some might call them mystic), or the words of English that slip into her mewing without her understanding. She can speak in tongues, but there's a Fred because there's love, and that's the surest sign.
Love is like this, sometimes: X hooting her name, telling her, "Look! I've just learned something." Love is the passageway between X's home and hers, the back way that connects them and ensures that no one knows when they're together. When mews and hoots and chatter cease and she is tucked safely under a blue wing, this is the surest sign that love is a force, that Fred is real, that he gave her a neighbor who is more than a friend, who is X the Owl.
Love is the knowledge that endless tunnels connect her home to his, some invisible, but all of them real. Love is the stacks of books that never topple, defying the universe and gravity because they contain X's knowledge, and knowledge is the key to his heart. Love is the warmth of Henrietta's house, the room she tidies for X's visits because she will know that she prepared a space for him.
Love is X's beak when its tip touches her head, scratching at the sweet spot and gentle over the rough patches where her fur is rubbing off. Love is knowing exactly what he's thinking, at the moments when he's silent; love is answering the bell and smiling to herself because she knows that X will be there too, that they will have company, Lady Aberlin most often, or a delivery from Mr. McFeely, or a song or a conversation or a fable with a moral, but there will be X, and he'll speak so she doesn't have to, and she'll mew her answers so that X knows what she's thinking. Love is adoring X and never caring if he doesn't understand, and love is X always understanding (mostly).
Love is fast asleep and dreaming of other worlds; love is the knowledge that Fred is real and watches the Neighborhood, and speaks through Henrietta's mouth, and King Friday's and Queen Sarah's, so that Fred's pronouncements become their law, and love is knowing that sometimes Fred sleeps, and they are left to sleep, or speak, or love in their own ways.
Love is a hole in a hollow tree, blue feathers and meow, a bright sharp beak, meow, meow, and mostly, just meeowwwww.
Fandom: Mister Rogers' Neighborhood
Pairing: Henrietta Pussycat/X the Owl
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Fred Rogers', not mine.
Notes: A stocking stuffer for
jlh in Yuletide 2007. This was the last-minute revision that barely made it in on time.Summary: Mystical magical treehouse tour.
Wordcount: 499
Natural Theology
X doesn't believe in Fred, but Henrietta's not given up hope. The tree house is her home, and the Neighborhood the only place she's been, but through her door she can sometimes see a giant-sized world, people whose names she doesn't know, and, once in awhile, fish. These things point, as does the trolley ding, to a world beyond the world, a place that X would never dream of because his day vision is so dim, his night vision non-existent. But there is a Fred. There must be.
The strongest clues are not the dreams (some might call them mystic), or the words of English that slip into her mewing without her understanding. She can speak in tongues, but there's a Fred because there's love, and that's the surest sign.
Love is like this, sometimes: X hooting her name, telling her, "Look! I've just learned something." Love is the passageway between X's home and hers, the back way that connects them and ensures that no one knows when they're together. When mews and hoots and chatter cease and she is tucked safely under a blue wing, this is the surest sign that love is a force, that Fred is real, that he gave her a neighbor who is more than a friend, who is X the Owl.
Love is the knowledge that endless tunnels connect her home to his, some invisible, but all of them real. Love is the stacks of books that never topple, defying the universe and gravity because they contain X's knowledge, and knowledge is the key to his heart. Love is the warmth of Henrietta's house, the room she tidies for X's visits because she will know that she prepared a space for him.
Love is X's beak when its tip touches her head, scratching at the sweet spot and gentle over the rough patches where her fur is rubbing off. Love is knowing exactly what he's thinking, at the moments when he's silent; love is answering the bell and smiling to herself because she knows that X will be there too, that they will have company, Lady Aberlin most often, or a delivery from Mr. McFeely, or a song or a conversation or a fable with a moral, but there will be X, and he'll speak so she doesn't have to, and she'll mew her answers so that X knows what she's thinking. Love is adoring X and never caring if he doesn't understand, and love is X always understanding (mostly).
Love is fast asleep and dreaming of other worlds; love is the knowledge that Fred is real and watches the Neighborhood, and speaks through Henrietta's mouth, and King Friday's and Queen Sarah's, so that Fred's pronouncements become their law, and love is knowing that sometimes Fred sleeps, and they are left to sleep, or speak, or love in their own ways.
Love is a hole in a hollow tree, blue feathers and meow, a bright sharp beak, meow, meow, and mostly, just meeowwwww.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-01 08:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-02 12:01 am (UTC)I was delighted to see your rec a few hours before the reveal.
(I should really create myself a Mister Rogers' Neighborhood icon.)