Krasota

I've decided to do something different this week. Instead of posting another poem, I want to share a story I wrote in January for the KET Young Writers Contest. In the Story Behind the Poem for "Time", I mentioned that I had written a short story with similar themes to that poem. This is that story.

Krasota is set deep in the forests of eastern Europe, and features just two characters - a little girl named Anya and her grandmother, Dinara. It's written in a simple style and reads like a children's fable. However, the story delivers a deep message that I believe is applicable to adults as well. If it feels extremely brief, it's because the contest had a 1,200-word limit. :)

I hope this piece blesses you and fills your day with a little extra whimsy and innocence. Here are a couple of verses that I think summarize its themes very well:

"Teach us to realize the brevity of life, so that we may grow in wisdom."

- Psalm 90:12 (New Living Translation)

"For how great is God’s goodness and how great is His beauty!"

- Zechariah 9:17 (Amplified Bible)

Now, without further ado...here is "Krasota".

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Krasota

“Eat slowly, Anya.” Anya froze, her cheeks stuffed with gingerbread. She swallowed, wiped her fingers on her dress, and set the remains of the cookie on the floor beside her. “I might tell you a story,” her grandmother continued, eyes on her needlepoint. “If you compose yourself.” Anya’s eyes widened. “Really? Could you tell me the one about the wolf who lost his howl?” “I could,” Grandma Dinara said. “Or I could tell you a story I’ve been saving. For when you were old enough to understand it.” She chuckled, rocking faster in her chair. That caught Anya’s attention. Though her grandmother was a kind woman, she rarely laughed. “I’m ready,” Anya said. “What’s the story?” Grandma Dinara smiled, folding her withered hands in her lap. She stared out the cottage window, firelight from the hearth flickering across her face. “Long ago, when I was a girl, there were tales of a mystical bird named Krasota.” “Mystical?” Anya said, scooting closer to her grandma’s feet. “As in magical?” “Not quite. Though legend said she was magical. Hunters claimed to have seen her in the woods, dancing or scorching trees with her fiery breath. None of this was true, of course. I don’t believe anyone actually saw her, until the day I did.” “You saw Krasota?” Anya said. “What did she look like? Was she bigger than a–” Grandma Dinara raised an eyebrow. Anya shut her mouth. “Yes,” Grandma Dinara said. “I saw Krasota. It was an autumn day, the sort where the wind bites your cheeks and the trees are covered in ice. I was running errands for my mother, and passed through the woods to collect eggs from my Aunt Sofia. Being a mischievous girl, I decided to stop by the stream to...” “What?” Anya said. “To what?” Grandma Dinara smirked. “I shouldn’t tell you. It might give you ideas. Anyhow, I stopped by the stream, and do you know what caught my eye? A golden feather, lying in the moss at my feet. I picked it up, and before you could say ‘Krasota’, a bird swooped down from the sky and landed on a nearby tree stump. She was enormous – taller than the span of my arms, and as heavy as a small child. Her breast was crimson, but the rest of her body was the same gold as the feather in my hand. “I moved towards her, slowly so as not to startle her. Our eyes locked. I had never seen such marvelous eyes – emerald and purple and brown, swirled together like two marbles. I was tempted to look away, but she seemed to enjoy my presence. I ran my fingertips over her wings. They felt like velvet, only softer. And then...she was gone.” “What?” Anya sprang to her feet. “She just...left? Is that the end of the story?” Grandma Dinara sighed. “I’m afraid so. I never saw Krasota again. But I’ve thought of her every day.” She looked at Anya. “I believe your parents are expecting you. You’d best head home, Anya.”

“But—”

“Yes, ma’am.” Anya scowled. “Yes, ma’am.” She followed her grandmother to the door, where her shawl hung on a weathered coat tree. Grandma Dinara wrapped it over Anya’s head and shoulders, until all that showed were her wide brown eyes. “Mother never puts it on like this,” Anya mumbled. “I can barely speak.” “I just want you to stay warm,” Grandma Dinara said. She stooped down, kissing Anya on the cheek. “Grandma?” Anya said. “Do you think I could find Krasota someday?” “I think anyone can find Krasota,” Grandma Dinara said. “The secret is to watch for her. These days people are so busy darting from place to place that they wouldn’t notice if a tiger danced under their nose.” She met Anya’s eye. “Children are often best at spotting her. If you truly desire to see Krasota, you’ll find her.” Anya nodded. She wrapped her arms around her grandmother’s waist, hugging her tightly before skipping out of the cottage. It was cold outside. The wind lashed against Anya’s face, and her breath puffed out in smoke. She was grateful Grandma Dinara had bundled her so tightly. Wrapping her arms around her chest, Anya began walking down the path leading to her family’s cabin. Trees rose around her, gray, leafless, and bowing in the breeze. They reminded her of stout old men, like Grandma Dinara’s husband Olag who had passed when she was five. The snow on their branches gave them wooly beards that glistened in the evening sun. And the sun itself – it was like fire, blazing dauntlessly through the woods. The world is so wonderful, Anya breathed. Why didn’t I notice it before?

She stopped. Lying at her feet was a golden feather.

Krasota is Russian for “beauty”

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I hope you enjoyed this story! As you can (hopefully) see, I've added back the comments section. I was unable to view most of the comments you posted previously, so I ended up removing the section to prevent confusion. But I've decided to give it another shot, and hopefully the feature works better this time!

Which pieces have been most encouraging to you so far, and why? I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Have a blessed week, friends! You're in my prayers. :)