Six Word Story (73)

Though cracked and dry, the riverbed is still there.

The broken boat evidence of past actions.

Our hearts? Can they still hear the whispers of the waves? Can we still praise in the drought?

It’s hard, but nature doesn’t forget past blessings even as the landscapes change. The earth buries its evidence in layer after layer of newness.

I will try to sit, be silent, and remember the sound of waves lapping the shore. I will remember past blessings. I will praise.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

Photo sourced from unsplash.com


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Six Word Story (72)

Interruptions. Changing of plans. We rarely look for those things, but if you know anything about river adventures, you know that a portage is often unavoidable. What do you do when you find a proverbial canoe on your shoulders, instead of in the water where it belongs?

Keep walking, carry a good compass, bring a friend along to help with the load.

These are things easier said than done. When your legs ache, when you’re tired and it’s dark and you can’t read your compass, when you and your partner find verbal combat easier than carrying a canoe… In the middle of at a portage doesn’t always seem like an adventure, but that’s life. We don’t always recognise the adventures we are on when we are standing in the middle of them.

Perspective. This is my reminder to remember and check my perspective.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

Photo sourced from unsplash.com.


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Six Word Story (71)

Do you have an arrow you follow? A compass? Something that guides you when you lose sight of land?

We all do, whether or not we realise it.

Sometimes, the guides that we follow are not very clear. Or, their arrows are not true and it’s difficult to discern if we are heading the right way.

How do we know if our guiding arrows are trustworthy? Have you ever had to find a new one?

I have.

Now, my compass is the Holy Bible. What is yours?

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

Photo sourced from unsplash.com


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Lovers Getaway

The joy of wriggling feet in wet sand as waves tease toes with cool kisses, one after the other in the rhythmic love of touch.
Whet sand sticks to heals. Tinny particles embedded in natural valleys of skin, playing as if they lived there when it’s vacation day.
The sand paper feel of brushing particles of rocks from flesh, and finding them attached to palm and fingers and hiding in, in between places.
Better to walk the shores barefoot, letting the warmth of sun and wind do their work? Watch the dark sands lighten to dry dust.
Brush hands together to cast tinny stones aside. Now ankles can be cleared of minuscule boulders, only the finest of glittering flecks remain as reminders of earth and skins dalliance.
Sandals laced. Only a stone here and there, stealing a peck from human follicles. Goodbye, kisses. Reluctantly brushed aside.

“Tomorrow.”

We whisper to the waves as the beach house light beckons. The courtship of human hearts and beach lasts only a day.
In the morning waves crash and clouds weep their farewell as a drizzle, on our last beach walk.

We can hear the gulls cry, “Don’t leave!” The salty breeze seals love like heartache to our memory with scent we won’t forget.
He holds the suitcase as I hold him.

“We’ll come back someday.”

The sand hiding in spaces between sandal leather and sole won’t let me forget this promise.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

Lovers Getaway was originally published in Dwelling Literary Issue 8: BEACH HOUSE.


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Six Word Story (70)

The worlds that we are.

The magnificence that each body represents.

Even when flawed, or experiencing illness.

I have had to sit and watch the IV drop in silence, more than once in my life. Have you? I didn’t feel like a masterpiece in the middle of my pain. But that doesn’t change the fact that I was and still am, one.

So are you.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

Photo sourced from unsplash.com


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Aracknid Atrist

Silken strands strung stunningly,
a woven web of artistry.
Secretions from innovations soul,
yet born to place each strand,
just so.
Elegant economic pattern,
drops of diamond dew bespattered.
Stops one dead in tracks this morn.
Now to face arachnid
scorn.
To such a masterpiece destroy…
A humbled apology employ.
Hours spent on spinning threads,
a masterpiece of newness
spreads.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

Arachnid Artist was originally published in The Dwelling Issue 7: BUGS UNDER THE RUG.


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Six Word Story (69)

Who?

Why?

There is always a reason someone turns on the lights, strikes a match, or opens shutters. It takes intention.

The effects of that one action go beyond the single act and affect everyone who inhabits the darkness. be them human, bug, or bacteria.

Light, and the act of lighting. Such small things, such large changes.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

Photo sourced from unsplash.com


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Six Word Story (68)

Logic, the container that lets you place all your emotions in order. Alone logic is neat but empty. It can explain, but lacks the warmth and meaning that makes life worthwhile.

Emotions without a holder, they roll around and make a mess at our feet. But they are a healthy staple and give our life spark, and sustaining energy.

None is better than the other. Neither is perfect in its understanding of reality. The ability to understand how they fit together? That is power.

I believe they were created to be partners within the human experience. What do you think?

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

Photo sourced from unsplash.com


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He Names Me

Who am I?
The one that you see?
What she thinks of me?
All they note?
Or the thing he missed?

Who?

Guilty
That I forgot
Lost in the mess
Of others’ thoughts
Spewed at my feet

Why?

Untranslatable
From one mind to another
Labeled with others
Experiences
Self perceptions that tell lies

Where?

Is the truth of me
In this ever shifting nexus
Is it written down
In His book of days?
Was I

Planted

A vine that climes
Grabbing hold of His
Provisions
Both free and confined
To grow along the trellis of

His cross

When I reach the top
Will I know?
Intertwined and grounded
By Him, with Him,
I am for Him

Upheld

Blooming in my seasons
Existing, a separate being
Singleness, within the
Universe’s Whomb
Bearing fruits as He names me

Loved

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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Six Word Story (67)

Once, when I was little, I asked my dad what had happened to the forest as we drove through the Northwestern Ontario wilderness. The trees looked ugly and sad. Dead black things standing in silent testament to what once was.

Did you know that the black earth hides life? All we see is destruction, but the earth knows it as time to renew.

“The forest will grow back full of new life and food for the animals to eat.” Dad told me.

It can be the same with people. Don’t look at your burn out plots as lost. See them as places to grow new love.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

Photo sourced from unsplash.com


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