Six Word Story (85)

Out of the sustaining cycles of life, the water cycle is one of my favorites to think about.

Every drop in the ocean would once have been rain that every flip of a fin stirs, and every current shares with the whole earth.

The beauty of our word is memorizing.

I see intent and intricate planning in its design. This belief doesn’t make me afraid of science, as some people think of those who are religious. No, it lends me a joy as I contemplate the puzzle pieces.

But I am also a dreamer, not a scientist. Still, the thought of ‘what if’ pulls at my heart, maybe close to the same way as it would for my calculating brothers and sisters?

What would it be like to ride those vapors?

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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Six Word Story (84)

There is a beauty like no other when it rains, each drop its own little world until it touches down.

What must it be like to be separate as you fall to be broken apart across pavement? Never ceasing to be what you are, but to have your world change so drastically as you slide down hill, finding a crack and joining the soil. Remaining what you are, but also changing.

What must it be like to touch down upon the sea and join an uncountable multitude of life? Something with sound and molecules invisible and unheard by the human world?

That fall, that union, vital to our existence. Without it? We wither.

Each single drop, so important.
But alone, never enough.

Only embracing togetherness of different kinds does water nourish life.

…like people…

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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Stone Murals

Sharp edges
Multicolored pores
Showing off scars
Human endeavors

Broken stones
Blasted wide
Essence laid bare
In cascading lines

Painting a mural
History past
Our earth bleeds colours
Painting murals that last

©Mary Grace van der Kroef 2020

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Six Word Story (81)

We have learned to fear silence.

The loneliness, the lack of progress.

When we learn to stop our chatter, pause our industry, we will hear what lays underneath what we fear.

The beat of our hearts, the breath of life, the creaking of growth, the groaning of decay.

When we sit with that thing, we fear, we learn what life really is.

In the learning we find new ways to sing and build around silence.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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Six Word Story (80)

Delicate. fragmenting under pressure.

Desiccated particles, all that remain.


An imprint that will last lifetimes.

A legacy.

A gift.

A life unforgettable.

We all leave imprints we are unaware of.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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Six Word Story (79)

The fall to earth is never strait, or predictable.

For a while they hold fast, grow, preparing for the fall. A fall that’s inevitable.

We all fall.

I pray when I finally land, others will say I fell with grace.

And when I rest, it will be in fertile soil, in which to spread new roots.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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Tonight I gather,
picking fruits from other’s words.

as I watch, wait, and learn.

Picking of experience
to stow,
safe in pockets.

Like berries on a bush,
tiniest of fruits.

Some are bitter, some are sweet,
all with bursting flavors greet.

Many is the harvest if
one will glean
the moment’s gift.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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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

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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.


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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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
To such a masterpiece destroy…
A humbled apology employ.
Hours spent on spinning threads,
a masterpiece of newness

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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

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