Fic: ‘Tis the Season: All it promises and shows.
Title: ‘Tis the Season: All it promises and shows
Fandom: Gilmore Girls
Rating: (G)
Time Period: After the first snow fell.
Summary: Everything is fresh.
Author's Note: This is quick ‘n’ dirty (for definition see the F. A. Q.).
Dialogue galore and then this, it seems.
Disclaimer
All characters contained herein are the intellectual property of Amy Sherman-Palladino; I am not affiliated with nor endorsed by them.
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Reaching over, she unlatches the window. Grey clouds hover overhead and she ignores them for the white underneath.
Sunlight shimmers on thee treetops, strands of ice hanging from the branches toward the ground. Instead of brown and dying green, there is smooth white, inviting footprints and sleigh tracks to be made.
The scent of hot chocolate wafts from behind, silently gliding up and around. In her hand is a cordless phone with whispers of the promises she'd extracted curling about it. Of sleighs and bells and free rides if she gave a mug of a favourite recipe to the sleigh coachmen and drivers.
She takes a deep breath and whispers to the beckoning white and the ice dangling from the trees: “I smell snow.”
And all it promises and shows.
Fandom: Gilmore Girls
Rating: (G)
Time Period: After the first snow fell.
Summary: Everything is fresh.
Author's Note: This is quick ‘n’ dirty (for definition see the F. A. Q.).
Dialogue galore and then this, it seems.
Disclaimer
All characters contained herein are the intellectual property of Amy Sherman-Palladino; I am not affiliated with nor endorsed by them.
_______________________
Reaching over, she unlatches the window. Grey clouds hover overhead and she ignores them for the white underneath.
Sunlight shimmers on thee treetops, strands of ice hanging from the branches toward the ground. Instead of brown and dying green, there is smooth white, inviting footprints and sleigh tracks to be made.
The scent of hot chocolate wafts from behind, silently gliding up and around. In her hand is a cordless phone with whispers of the promises she'd extracted curling about it. Of sleighs and bells and free rides if she gave a mug of a favourite recipe to the sleigh coachmen and drivers.
She takes a deep breath and whispers to the beckoning white and the ice dangling from the trees: “I smell snow.”
And all it promises and shows.