A sheet of ice that spans the street, black like darkest slate. From underneath water seeps, through clogged and rusting grate. Bubbles trapped under ice dance despite the cold, as little boots sliding fast can find no proper hold.
Back and forth, ghost like in sheen, the bubbles bounce and bob. Weight is shifted up above. Stomp! That did the job. One bubble popped. White rings are left to mark the impact’s crack. How many can be caught and taught with a well aimed mighty thwack?
Winter like I know it has still not really come to my new home. It has only teased us with a few day long romps through white, but that’s alright. It will be thoroughly enjoyed when it decides to make our new home, it’s home. If only for a short time.
I was not sorry to see 2020 leave. I was equally dissatisfied with 2019 and 2018 as well. I find my memories of the last 5 years fragmented and sharp.
But those shards hold truths I need to revisit. Sometimes puzzling through the mess is how we find out healing.
That is what life is, after all, an endless journey of learning. Each day holds possibilities for answers, healing, and growth. Painful or pleasant, learning is something we all do.
“I didn’t put you there!” “But I found a drop of water and just couldn’t resist.” The painter scowled while her bit of Blue blushed and mixed with its cousin Brown. “Well now, we look like mud, and it’s all your fault.” If Brown had had arms, it would have folded them over each other, while holding a scowl on its face. Blue just twittered and slipped farther down the page, touching Green and making the artist see spots. “Oh, the possibilities!” It sung as it fingered out over each water drop touched. “Look, I am just a little happy blue. Can you catch me?” The stop was abrupt at the edge of the page. Blue hung onto jagged fibres. “Now blue, get back over here before you fall.” “Fall? Oh, but to fall!” And fall Blue did, right off the paper on to Artists apron. “Serves it right.” Muttered Brown as it dried and combined with the paper’s elements. “How will I ever learn when the colours never get long?” “Don’t worry,” Whispered Paintbrush. “They will all mature with you. Give them, and yourself time.”
I have grown to love my six word stories. Many times I just don’t have a lot of words. But when I make myself thinking 6 small words, and how I could fit just those 6 together, it forces my mind open and relieves the pressure.
One thing you wouldn’t know about me unless we are close friends, is my life for sea creatures. There life dance are things of such beauty.
Not to mention, a lot of them taste fantastic…
When I find even six little words, hard to grab a hold of, I know it’s time to pray. “God, if you gave me this need to write, will you also give me the words?”
I believe God has a great sense of humor. Do you? I mean, come on… What was he thinking when he made broccoli? Not to mention its ghost cousin cauliflower?
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