tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054321507843915764.post6639214281853056440..comments2023-10-21T08:03:29.559-05:00Comments on TS Tate: Painting Stories #8TS Tatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08136046279949457221noreply@blogger.comBlogger6125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054321507843915764.post-36585556431053145972011-07-29T12:26:39.194-05:002011-07-29T12:26:39.194-05:00Thanks!Thanks!TS Tatehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08136046279949457221noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054321507843915764.post-27828809479499600772011-07-28T11:24:53.193-05:002011-07-28T11:24:53.193-05:00Wow, gorgeous picture. And I love your description...Wow, gorgeous picture. And I love your description - particularly the bit about the fence being held together with vines from the willow. Very evocative.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13832782604769370695noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054321507843915764.post-64091701857206908572011-07-26T10:03:05.468-05:002011-07-26T10:03:05.468-05:00You should, Heather!You should, Heather!TS Tatehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08136046279949457221noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054321507843915764.post-42363312862353828952011-07-26T01:54:01.150-05:002011-07-26T01:54:01.150-05:00I love this one. Just looking at the photo all my ...I love this one. Just looking at the photo all my senses are engaged. I'm going to HAVE to come back and write something for this!Heatherhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05130733681254163610noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054321507843915764.post-13574096262400175202011-07-25T22:20:39.008-05:002011-07-25T22:20:39.008-05:00Gah, C, I love, love, love this!!!Gah, C, I love, love, love this!!!TS Tatehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08136046279949457221noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8054321507843915764.post-52188485018596730442011-07-25T22:10:48.354-05:002011-07-25T22:10:48.354-05:00Love yours, beautifully epic.
The dryad sat on th...Love yours, beautifully epic.<br /><br />The dryad sat on the grass beside her tree, watching the sunset and wondering when life would pass by her once again. It had been so quiet these last few years. Once, her tree had stood all alone in a meadow. Then men had come, building a road, sheltering below her branches and bringing music, noise, and the fear of fire. Then the sounds grew dire, brash, loud, as men clashed and blood was spilt, and she cowered in her tree, terrified. And then, time passed, the bodies decayed, and quiet reigned. Would someone come again one day, to laugh and sing beneath her tree?Elaine Lowehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04211385486803201067noreply@blogger.com