Acrylic on paper. The flowers were as still and soft as the hushed tune of the breeze that rustled past the gate. There was a chirp from a branch overhead. The sunshine burst from over the wet wall and relected onto a pane of glass. The window was closed. A drape was pulled half way across and the dark interior was still heavy with sleep. A new dawn for an ancient garden. The buried souls rose to summon the living who, in confusion, struggled to free arms and legs from comforting quilts and opened eyes to see, not a garden, but a clock.
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esther baltisberger 28 Apr 2008
Beautiful and posivive painting JohnFrancesco Dea 28 Apr 2008
Great work, JohnSara Deutsch 27 Apr 2008
Evocative...love the zoomed in version too.Julia Scorupsky 27 Apr 2008
What a lovely impresionistic image!Ruth Kauffman 27 Apr 2008
Beautiful abstract work, John!! Love your story!! :)