Tammy Grace
Bio
Wanderlust should have been my middle name. Family stories tell tales of our ancestors as gypsies and I feel this in my soul. I am compelled by the beauty I find in all things old: houses, faces, places, and stories.
Stories (2)
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The Singular Singing Tree
Once upon a time, not very long ago, in the middle of a field stood one, lone tree. Surrounded by acres of soft, fluffy, white balls of cotton, the lone tree appeared quite majestic, as if the royal overseer of all that gathered around it in awe of its glory. The beautiful, old maple tree had planted its roots in this spot over fifty years ago, claiming stake to the territory, almost daring anything else to come near. For most of those fifty years, the tree had stood planted there, season after season, as its beautiful leaves changed colors right along with the sunsets: greens to vibrant oranges, reds, and yellows. The singular tree, although unbeknownst to passersby, had a hidden talent: one that the glorious display of colorful leaves helped it conceal because admirers never came closer than needed to capture its grandeur in photos.
By Tammy Grace4 years ago in Fiction
On Wings Laden With Memories
As she lay quietly in bed, one shallow breath from dozing into that peaceful reprieve from all the sadness of the prior three days, she was startled awake with a gasp. The unmistakable screech of a barn owl pealed so sharply and closely that she caught herself frozen, afraid to move for fear that it had somehow gotten inside her bedroom. After what seemed like an eternity but had only been mere seconds, she mustered the determination to sit up quickly in bed and turn on the bedside lamp, still holding her breath with the expectation of finding herself face to face with the creature. After surveying the room and finding that, thankfully, she was not being watched over by the huge eyes of an owl, she moved cautiously toward her window, pulled back the curtain and immediately felt her heart drop into her stomach when she was met by the glare of the old fellow perched on the lowest limb of the old oak tree outside. He was sitting there gazing at her as if he’d been sent there specifically to deliver some secret message that was only intended for her. She felt her heart begin to race, right along with her superstitious mind and forced herself to lie back down although she could not bring herself to turn off the lamp: even as an 18 year old in college, she had always had to sleep with a light on for fear of what the darkness might hide. Moments later, almost as if the owl had detected her absence from the window, she heard it screech again then heard a thud against the outside of her house. It startled her so badly this time that she found herself considering if death might just be better.
By Tammy Grace4 years ago in Families
