Author Notes: Hey all. I haven't quit Convoluted, Heart of the Matter, OR
Mine!, in fact, there is a new chapter of Mine! on the way, and I have
finished chapter 21 of Convoluted. As soon as ff.net is up and running
again, it will be posted. Sorry for the delay. Basis of this story? Ever
heard, 'If these walls could talk'? Well, what would Buffy's oak tree have
to say?? Kinda serious, slightly romantic. The usual. Tiger, you're the
best Buffy in the world. :) You rock. The song is a bigband/swing song
with a new generation twist called "Oak Tree" by the Alien Fashion Show.
Go d/l the song. It's sweet.
Always.
Tequila Sunrise
The Old Oak Tree.
As a tree, period, I've seen a lot. I've been used a lot, too. But never as much as I have the past six years. I've been climbed up, and down from by her. By him, too. And he thinks no one knows. That he watches. That he weeps. That he rages.
I love the rain When it's cold outside your steamy window panes. And I... watch you sleep. I know all the naughty little secrets that you keep. Cuz I.... am the old... oak tree.
I thought, the first time he climbed me, to shake, to rustle, to scratch my limbs across the windows. My lady was in danger. Remorse had rolled off the other, the darker, in waves. This one had none. No sympathy. Only anger, confusion. He came more frequently now, and still, my lady slept on. I used to stir a gale when he came. My limbs would snap against him, batter him. Now, when he came, when he touched the pane of glass that she laid behind, just out of reach, regret came off him, just a touch, with a bevy of loss. And I stir my mysterious winds softly, my limbs caccooning him. Surrounding him. As she surrounds him.
I... love the wind I know all the sav'ry places that she's been. Sometimes... when it suits me.. I spread all my branches and let the suuun pass through me... Cuz I..... am the old... Oak tree.
I've seen her come home, bruised not from a battle, but a war. I know, that with them, that's what it is. I see tears down my lady's cheeks, confusion drowning her eyes like the tears. She wants his tenderness. Almost as badly as he wants to give it. Neither will give in, just that touch. She sometimes sits in the day, staring out her window, a distant look in her eyes. Sometimes, she even speaks to me. I wish I could tell her what I see. What I know. So I let the sun filter through my branches and let it touch her hand where it rests on the glass, just as his did nights ago. And I hope that the sunshine will help her. Will strengthen my lady.
I love the rain.... When it's cold outside your steamy window panes. And I.... watch you sleep. I know all the naughty little secrets that you keep. Cuz I... Am the old...
He came back again. He always does. The grim unfeeling of his whole being swept through me. Unease rippled through my limbs and out my leaves. My lady had been distressed this afternoon. This night would be different. And, indeed, it was. My lady was safe in her bed, from all her trials. It was cold out, and warm inside, because the windows were foggy, and it was hard to see her. He carefully traced letters in an old script into the fog, placing his hand against the pane, leaving it's impression. As he had on her. My lady woke in a sweat. Neither of us saw her run to the window, throw it open, and breathe deeply of the breeze I was stirring. Then she noticed. "What do you want?" "Are you all right?" His still-cold hand swept her cheek carefully. "Yes, I-" My lady stopped. "It hurts to sleep." He climbed in the window, closed it, led her to her bed. He laid down softly on it, spooning her to his chest. His words faded slowly from the window, but the hand-print didn't, seemingly branding the whole house. But my lady slept. And every night since then, he comes to the window, and she leads him in. Before sunrise, he always leaves. They make neither love nor war. He gives my lady peace, and I don't think she knows it, but she's gives him love.
'Cuz I.... am the old... Oak tree...
Finis.
Allright. The end. :) I hope you liked it! Don't forget to check out "The Matter of The Heart" or the new chap of Convoluted. Have a great day! Hope y'all had a magnificent 4th.
Always. Tequila Sunrise
The Old Oak Tree.
As a tree, period, I've seen a lot. I've been used a lot, too. But never as much as I have the past six years. I've been climbed up, and down from by her. By him, too. And he thinks no one knows. That he watches. That he weeps. That he rages.
I love the rain When it's cold outside your steamy window panes. And I... watch you sleep. I know all the naughty little secrets that you keep. Cuz I.... am the old... oak tree.
I thought, the first time he climbed me, to shake, to rustle, to scratch my limbs across the windows. My lady was in danger. Remorse had rolled off the other, the darker, in waves. This one had none. No sympathy. Only anger, confusion. He came more frequently now, and still, my lady slept on. I used to stir a gale when he came. My limbs would snap against him, batter him. Now, when he came, when he touched the pane of glass that she laid behind, just out of reach, regret came off him, just a touch, with a bevy of loss. And I stir my mysterious winds softly, my limbs caccooning him. Surrounding him. As she surrounds him.
I... love the wind I know all the sav'ry places that she's been. Sometimes... when it suits me.. I spread all my branches and let the suuun pass through me... Cuz I..... am the old... Oak tree.
I've seen her come home, bruised not from a battle, but a war. I know, that with them, that's what it is. I see tears down my lady's cheeks, confusion drowning her eyes like the tears. She wants his tenderness. Almost as badly as he wants to give it. Neither will give in, just that touch. She sometimes sits in the day, staring out her window, a distant look in her eyes. Sometimes, she even speaks to me. I wish I could tell her what I see. What I know. So I let the sun filter through my branches and let it touch her hand where it rests on the glass, just as his did nights ago. And I hope that the sunshine will help her. Will strengthen my lady.
I love the rain.... When it's cold outside your steamy window panes. And I.... watch you sleep. I know all the naughty little secrets that you keep. Cuz I... Am the old...
He came back again. He always does. The grim unfeeling of his whole being swept through me. Unease rippled through my limbs and out my leaves. My lady had been distressed this afternoon. This night would be different. And, indeed, it was. My lady was safe in her bed, from all her trials. It was cold out, and warm inside, because the windows were foggy, and it was hard to see her. He carefully traced letters in an old script into the fog, placing his hand against the pane, leaving it's impression. As he had on her. My lady woke in a sweat. Neither of us saw her run to the window, throw it open, and breathe deeply of the breeze I was stirring. Then she noticed. "What do you want?" "Are you all right?" His still-cold hand swept her cheek carefully. "Yes, I-" My lady stopped. "It hurts to sleep." He climbed in the window, closed it, led her to her bed. He laid down softly on it, spooning her to his chest. His words faded slowly from the window, but the hand-print didn't, seemingly branding the whole house. But my lady slept. And every night since then, he comes to the window, and she leads him in. Before sunrise, he always leaves. They make neither love nor war. He gives my lady peace, and I don't think she knows it, but she's gives him love.
'Cuz I.... am the old... Oak tree...
Finis.
Allright. The end. :) I hope you liked it! Don't forget to check out "The Matter of The Heart" or the new chap of Convoluted. Have a great day! Hope y'all had a magnificent 4th.
Always. Tequila Sunrise