The true story of Grace continues. Over the past few months, the postman had been busy delivering letters to and fro between Grace and Alex. When he called her, Grace run from her room to answer the phone that was attached to the lounge room wall. She had to strain to hear Alex and whisper back into the house phone in an attempt to keep her conversation private from her father and brothers sitting in the adjacent lounge room of their small family home. Beverley Joy
Book Excerpt – The Wilted Rose Part 3 – The Wilted Rose and my poem – Budding Love
Instead of the youth camp that she usually attended with her brothers at Easter time, Grace had saved up $600 to fly to Melbourne to visit Alex. Instead of bathers and towels, she packed her bag with beanies, scarves, jumpers and jeans. On Thursday evening, Jack drove her to the airport. The flight to Melbourne via Sydney took just over four hours.
The Bells Beach Surf Classic competition was held annually at Easter time. Grace and Alex spent Good Friday attending his church service, then spending the rest of the day with Alex’s parents and friends from church. They had to wait until Saturday before they could make the hour-and-a-half drive to watch the world’s best surfers compete. They started the journey early in the morning, following the Great Ocean Road as it wound its way alongside the wild and windswept Southern Ocean.
Grace breathed in deep the freedom she felt. Alex oozed confidence, made her laugh and was exciting to be with. He opened up a whole new world of fun and adventure to her.
To be continued…
Kate Kelsen Author © All Rights Reserved
Image by Anja-#pray for ukraine# #helping hands# stop the war from Pixabay
Poem – Budding Love
PODCAST – Budding Love
I held your face in my hands, I looked into your eyes, I smiled, I sighed.
My heart felt warm, it pours forth love, a friendship is formed of that I was sure.
A love I hope will weather many a storm
It does not demand, it’s just comfortable.
It’s simple, it’s clear, no need to fear
Its intent is pure, it’s demure.
I speak some words, and they come out wrong
I misconstrue, I confuse.
If I write you a poem the words will flow like a gentle river, it will flood your soul.
I mean no harm as I hesitate. My heart’s been bruised and the wounds go deep.
Accept my embrace one by one, moment by moment as genuine.
There’s no hurry, no agenda, no mystery, that’s just who I am.
No woe is me, let’s keep it light, be happy and kind, friendly and polite.
Beverley joy of Simply Story Poetry © 2015. All rights reserved.
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