Ellaby hasn’t seen or heard from his best friend in days. This was unusual and prompted Ellaby to go and stop by where Lem lived in a wonderful cozy home under the roots of a large old elm tree. It had belonged to many generations of his gnome family. It was right next to a stream where he and Ellaby would float paper boats down it, talk to passing frogs, and play with other creatures that lived along the merrily gurgling stream.
As I said before Lem had been missing for too many days and when Ellaby knocked on his door he heard nothing at first. But then his ear pricked up when he heard a weak croak, “Hellooo?” Lem quickly poked his head in the door and there propped up on a pile of pillows was Lem looking feverish and miserable.
“Where have you been?” asked Lem crankily. “I could have died right here and no one would have cared.”
“I came to see you as soon as I realized you hadn’t come to town. It’s only been a few days,” answered Ellaby in a soothing voice. He was very patient because he knew Lem was only ever cross when he was ill. “What can I bring you? …Some nice root soup or a warm compress for your chest? Some new books? Cough syrup? Witches Good for What Ails You All Purpose Elixer?”
“No,” Lem answered, “No not much …I just need some company… and a cup of tea… and maybe a slice of ginger root toast…and plump my pillows please…and open the window just a hair will you please…. a cold cloth for my brow…. and some of those flowers just down the stream would be nice… hmmm I guess that ‘s all.”
Ellaby looked at his friend and what he thought and what he said were two different things. He just looked at his dear friend and said, “Alright, in a jiffy. We’ll have you up and running around in no time.
Copyright 2014 Ann Gates Fiser All rights reserved
After posting so regularly many of you may wonder what happened to me. ( I often wonder that myself). My husband I were hired to paint the bedroom and playroom of three little girls ages 4-9. The bedroom room is huge- approximately 29′ by about 22′. The playroom is also big but I never took the time to measure. The girls’ playhouse cottage bunk bed has three full size mattresses in it to give you some idea of the scale. The ceiling is vaulted and goes up about 12-14 feet on the high side. Well enough writing. On to the pictures.
Triggle Tunsbundy’s little brother Traggle had one very very good friend in the world, Oliver Maplesmort. Although Oliver was many, many centuries old( and not to mention the obvious fact that he was a tree) and Traggle only a few hundred years old or so, they were extremely fond of each other. You see Traggle was an excellent writer, a spinner of tales of far off places, and Oliver was a really very good listener. Unable to go anywhere Oliver was usually very bored when Traggle wasn’t around to amuse him with stories. And Traggle had usually been ignored when he tried entertain others with his incredible imagination, so the two friends were perfectly suited to one another. Eventually Traggle had practiced story telling so much with his friend
Oliver that he began to be able attract other people to his enchanting tales. He became very famous, but never forgot his friend Oliver and always came to tell him the new stories first. It was and is the perfect frienship with each gaining from the knowing of the other.
Copyright 2013 All Rights Reserved Ann Gates Fiser
On the tenth day of the tenth month in the year of the Owl, Oliver Oldtree arrived home at last. He’d last seen his friends and family six months ago. It started with the realization that after 60 years of staying close to home, he was bored. He wanted to see what was outside the confines of his usual habitat. In short he had a bad case of wanderlust. He’d set out on a walk-a-bout with what he could carry in his backpack and his friend and trusted mount, a field mouse named Sneed. But that is a tale for another time. For this tale is about coming home just in time to avoid the cold winter winds and snow that Oliver was beginning to sense was coming very soon. Not only that, but he was truly homesick for his hearth, his warm bed, and the company of good friends and family. All he could think about was sitting in the pub and having a pint or two and telling the tales of his fantastic journey while his friends listened in rapt attention. After all he had traveled at least five miles there and five miles back. That was an amazing feat for someone who could easily fit in the palm of your hand. Imagine that! And that is the end of this very tiny tale. Copyright 2013 Ann Gates Fiser
Trees begin their long lives smooth of bark with no discernible features. Only after many, many cycles of seasons when the tree begins to develop a very thick skin, does anything resembling a face begin to emerge from the trunk. There’s a reason for this. It is only when a tree has achieved a ripe old age has it observed, felt and understood the ephemeral, changing, but eternal nature of life. By then has it gained the necessary experience to speak its wisdom to the very young, and truth be told the not so young, that they need and long to hear. A wizened face emerges from the gnarly trunk of the tree and it is then the tree has a voice and is available for counsel.
If you’ve ever sought out a very old tree and asked advice, then you know that it takes along time to get an answer… if at all. There a few reasons for this. The first might be because the tree knows very well from having observed you since you were an acorn, that you already have the answer and are either too lazy to dig it out or you don’t believe enough in yourself to accept that what you know is the correct answer. Second a tree might not answer because it knows that you aren’t ready or you won’t accept its advice and wisdom (because you rarely do). And lastly and this is very often true, you simply haven’t give the old tree time enough to deliberate and decide what is the best recourse it should give to you. So as another great wise teacher has said…patience grasshopper… patience. All things come forth in time.
Copyright 2013 All Rights Reserved
Ann Gates Fiser
Petrius P Pandymon was unusual even for a citizen of Annaria. He was wealthy, and to be sure the wealthy can assume the title of eccentric rather than buck-ass crazy, but Petrius was beyond the pale. He started living in a tree after falling in love with the dryad. Liliah, to whom the tree belonged. And being so very rich meant that he could have the tree outfitted with all of the modern conveniences that Anarians are so very fond of. In spite of the fact that he loved the Dryad so very dearly, she finally had enough of Petrius’s attentions and forsook her tree to go and live with her cousin, a lake sprite, who assured Liliah that lake dryads were allowed to drown their lovers when they grew tired of them. As for Petrius he loved living in the tree so much that he never again ventured out of it, not even for the Empress. I believe that she even visited him a few times, but being as it hurt her neck to crank it upwards to talk to him, and that it was beneath her dignity to climb up in a tree, she declined any future visits.
This is the original pencil sketch that the painting was based upon.
Copyright 2013 All rights reserved Ann Gates Fiser