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AN: This little autumn ficlet was inspired by the Tumblr prompt of “ruffled hair” for autumn.
I own nothing from The Walking Dead.
I hope you enjoy! Please don’t forget to let me know what you think!
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It seemed like the trees decided to let go their leaves all at once. The gold, orange, red, and even green, hued leaves got caught in the occasional gusts of wind that wound their way through the forest, and they took their freedom and sprang into a dance before they finally fluttered down to rest on the damp forest floor where they would later contribute to the health of the trees and the growth of future leaves just like themselves.
Even in a world where there was so much death and decay, it was important to remember that, from death, there often came new life and new things that were beautiful and wonderful.
From some of her greatest losses, arguably, Carol had come to find the greatest happiness that she now knew. That happiness, of course, did not wipe away her pain entirely, but making sense of things in whatever way she could, and accepting the way things were always at play in the universe, kept her from feeling bitter and wallowing in hurt.
And yet, even her bitterness and wallowing had had its place in the story of her life.
From a man who had never known how to love her, she had been given the blessing of her daughter. From the loss of her beloved daughter, she had found the man she felt it had always been her destiny to find and, maybe, she’d helped him find himself. She’d found her strength, and she’d found a resilience that she never would have believed herself capable of possessing despite all that she’d survived before accepting her daughter’s death.
Loss after loss and death after death built up that strength and resilience.
From the loss of her son—after so many cruel losses—came anger, bitterness, wallowing. And from that rot and decay came a new life for Carol.
The man that had been her destiny pulled her away from everything that had held her fast into place. Like those leaves, they’d both finally found a release from what was anchoring them where they were, and they’d gone off into something of a final dance to celebrate the end of their lives as the literal and metaphorical winter loomed on the horizon ahead of them.
On the back of his bike, Carol had breathed in fresh air, freedom, and a peace that she’d never known before. In sleeping bags at campsites, their bodies had come together for ancient dances that were nearly as old as those practiced by the falling leaves.
They had both finally tasted love. Real love.
The end of their lives, as they’d imagined it to be, had been only the end of a season. From the end, as always, came new beginnings.
Just as the leaves settling on the forest floor weren’t done dancing, and they sprung up again when feet kicked them into the air and shuffled through them with unfettered joy for the season, Carol and Daryl weren’t done dancing.
In a swirl of falling leaves, Carol closed her eyes and enjoyed the breeze as it delicately caressed her face and tangled the whisps of hair that had come loose from her braid. Autumn smelled a certain welcomed way, and she inhaled a deep breath of the familiar and comforting scent.
She opened her eyes and smiled at the sound of crunching, and the rustling of leaves being kicked up to dance again in the breeze—given a chance for more life.
The sweet giggles carried like music in the breeze, and the little toe-head boy danced in dizzying circles like the leaves that swirled around him and stuck to his hair and clothes. He wasn’t alone, though. Carol smiled, too, as his father overtook him and, reaching Carol, took her in his arms and danced her in a playful circle.
“We lost you, woman!” Daryl said, laughing at his teasing. Carol had only ever been a few steps ahead of them.
The boy—her precious, beautiful, surprisingly unexpected baby boy—wrapped around her leg with enough force that, had it not been for the strong arms of his father holding her steady, he might have toppled her to the ground and into the thick underbrush padded with a blanket of fallen autumn leaves.
“We lost you, Mama!” He declared.
She tousled his hair, and he smiled up at with a dirty face and ruffled hair full of leaves.
“You can’t lose me,” she promised. “Never.”
And, leaning down, she took his little hand in hers. Quickly kissing her hand, Daryl held Carol’s hand and took his son’s other little hand when it was offered up to him. Then, just to hear the little boy laugh, they danced him in a circle—the three of them spinning together, momentarily surrounded by a swirl of leaves dancing their way to the forest floor.