NOTES
Written as part of the Great Shack Challenge of 2001. If you
haven't checked out the main page for this yet (101
Ways to Wind Up in a Canadian Shack), do! It has 30 authors in
62 fandoms, and I guarantee there are fandoms you never dreamed of there,
as well as some of your favorites. They're short (500-600 words), and
they're good. These eight were my contribution.
All of my shacks are collected here.
written December 2001; posted December 31, 2001
A distant buzzing added itself to the symphony in Peter's head, alien noise fitting in seamlessly, percussion to the wood and brass of wind and birdsong. Gradually it shifted from snare drum to bass, heavy beat filling the air.
It stopped abruptly, and Peter smiled at the silence that rushed to fill the space before the smaller noises could be heard again.
Percussion again; Peter blinked and unfolded from lotus to answer the door.
Green sunglasses stared at him from within mounds of coat and hat and hood and scarf. "Kermit."
A gloved hand reached up and tugged the scarf down a few inches. "I was in the neighborhood," Kermit said.
Peter looked around at acres of snow unbroken by anything but stands of trees, and one lone snowmobile trail running off to the east, and looked back at Kermit. "Oh?"
"Gonna let me in? It's freezing out here."
"How can you tell?" Peter asked, grinning. "C'mon in -- here, give me that." He grabbed the bag swinging from Kermit's hand and got out of the way as the other man walked in. "I'm impressed that you can even move in all that."
"Yeah, well, not all of us have internal Shaolin temperature controls, you know." Kermit started shedding layers near the stove. He sighed in pure pleasure as the last of the outerwear hit the floor and he held his hands over the heat. It was odd seeing him in jeans and flannel, but somehow it suited him.
Peter grabbed the snowy clothes and hung them on nails in the wall to dry, waiting for Kermit to finish thawing out.
"Nice place you have here," Kermit said, glancing around. It didn't take long; there was a bed, a stove, and a cabinet for dishes and food, plus assorted clothes and buckets along the walls. "So give me the tour."
"Okay. Here we have... the cabin."
Kermit grinned, turning to warm his backside. "This is really it, huh? No palatial master bedroom hidden in a dimensional pocket somewhere?"
"Heh. No. This is it. Been in the family for years."
"I didn't think Shaolin went in for owning property."
"I wouldn't say 'owned'. But my great-grandfather built it, a hundred years ago, on one of his journeys. He didn't get north much, but he loved it here -- the space, the snow, the smell of the air. He left the cabin for anyone who needed shelter. Lots of people have stayed here over the years. When I read about it, in his journal.... I had to come here."
Kermit nodded, glancing around again. "So, you're up here meditating?"
"Meditating. Listening. Just... being." Peter shrugged, then smiled as Kermit nodded again. Kermit always had understood, somehow. "You want coffee?"
"God, yeah."
"It's only instant," Peter warned. "I never learned how to make real coffee without a coffeemaker."
"At this point, I'd drink mud if you told me it had a coffee bean in it once."
Peter laughed and went for mugs and spoons.
Within minutes, they were settled at opposite ends of the bed, mugs in hand. Peter shut his eyes, testing the feel of the cabin with two people. It sounded right; it felt good. "So, really," he said, taking a sip and opening his eyes. "What brings you here?"
Kermit held the mug in one hand, head tilted down to look into it. Slowly, he reached up and took off his sunglasses, then leaned back against the wall and raised his head to look straight back at Peter. "I told you. I was in the neighborhood."
(594 words)
~ fin ~
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