out here beyond the familiar, I escape. ponder what it must be like to go and wander, past where bridges lie, and to a place my feet welcome; a path unrecognizable to my soul. my mind allowed freedom as I see myself pushing back against a warm summer breeze. nightfall is yet to be seen, yet the week is already before me. stillness becomes evident, while the sky slowly burns across Midwestern hues. I sense maybe you’re listening, so I offer this plea – challenge me, but don’t leave.
occult in gilded lace, her aureole exposed petals purely contoured if she were able, a pinwheel she would become for you imagine her delicate, perfected in verdant wearing peaches and cream, with a promising aura
On Independence Day, while sitting in the pool, my twenty-one year old son was studying my face. After a while, it seemed I realized I was being watched, so he swam in closer, invading my personal space, giving me a big hug. (Offensive linemen give big hugs on and off the field.)
Now.
Between you and I, I know he sees me aging, and it’s making him feel a little sad. So I held my breath, as I looked up at him, in anticipation of the words I saw forming inside his mind through those crystal blue eyes of his.
I mean, I can acknowledge the fact I am getting older, but “outta the mouths of babes”, one never does know how those words will hit the ego. *giggles*
A few hours before, he had picked up one of my curls and made that *awwww* sound, which I can easily translate for him to mean, “Your hair is graying.”
After the sweet wet swimmy hug and the “I love you,” I hear this as he smirks and gazes down at me – (his girlfriend is suffering, I assure you *smirk* )
He said, “Momma, you have freckles on your lips…”
…as if he’d never really studied me before today. He’s an intellectual and, with complete faith, loves me unconditionally.
To which I replied,
“Hi, I’m your mother. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
I suppose I’ll add this exchange to the swimming moment we have from when he was 5 years old.
What is it with he and I and summer swim time?!
“Momma, your arms with all those freckles (motions up and down my arms) looks like a beautifully baked cheese pizza.”
My reply to our hysterically laughing group of friends,
“I guess it’s time for lunch.” ♡
Happy Belated 4th of July hope you enjoyed yours as much as I enjoyed mine!
the past the expectations the privilege the power the beauty the silence she chooses to try.
she begins at the bottom, alone – yet, her confidence is exposed as petals stretch. amethyst her signature, and starlet her pose, the climbing inevitable, but she’s worth it, and you know.
the smile in her eyes shines like sun her grin, feathers like petals in the breeze and those dimples well, for him, one day, they’ll be his everything.
when the call comes time stands down knees buckle wind escapes the very breath I needed to speak. a cry from within – within me – it shocks, shocks the very core of my being, a result everyone warned me of feeling deep inside, but then regret: the regret of putting off everything I should have said when it still mattered. the searching begins the desire for proof – proof we existed together in this world making the memories we shared valid, meaningful and somehow important. but then the awareness arrives, becoming fully aware eyes wide open, there is nothing here to prove our connection; my love. lacking tangible evidence of a bond created out of a deep need to feel a part of something I lacked, is the torture I, until today, didn’t realize I would be living with now forever.
. . . You know those days when you wake up to a mountain of snow in your yard, because – wind – , so you make coffee and you spend an hour and a half talking yourself up to a game of shoveling for an hour or more? Not minding the physical work really, but the wind is gonna cut hard this time causing the debate inside my head a heaviness. (Nebraska blizzards are the worst, yet I adore them.)
You put on a few layers of clothes, bemoaning how you look in a hat 😳, wishing you’d purchased taller boots for winter, and decide you are capable of doing anything so you march outside ready to take on the snow with your trusty shovel. The object that has seen you through six consecutive winters in Nebraska since the last one broke and never failed.
The two of you dance about the sidewalk and around the car, being mindful of the fact you accidently mule kicked your jeans off last night in the dark and broke your pinky toe on your dresser so it already feels crammed into thick socks and tight boots as it is… so go easy, Aud.
Never mind your nose is dripping, ears are frozen because your hat is too short and your hazel eyes are watering due to refusing the scarf, as it’s too bulky and makes ya sweat anyway, and life feels hard but you’re making it work so ya laugh to say, “Cheers on you life,” and finish strong. Taking time to laugh at yourself every time you toss the snow against the wind and it attacks right back. This girl will never learn.
Grateful to be done with round one as you stomp back inside, after shoveling a path in the grass, as well, so ya can get to the car parked out back, with wet gloves, snow on top of the worthless hat you knitted as a first knitted object ever and you wanna fit into it.
However you were born with a big head and curly hair so hats don’t look right, then ya kick off the shorty expensive snow boots you were just sure would be so cute with jeans when you’re out and about at Christmas time and the sense of regret settles in.
See, you’re kinda cussing them because they kept your feet warm – good – yet you can’t feel your wet frozen ankles – bad. Side eye yourself realizing nobody cares because you’re the only one here now, so ya stop talking.
Wander a bit around the house as your glasses de-fog and ponder where you put your furry slippers when you first started this project nearly four hours ago and suddenly realize . . .
You didn’t pour one cup of coffee from the coffee pot and now it’s cold. AND so are you.
I can’t decide how I feel about myself now. Love my life.
. . . wandering away now towards the microwave cold cup in hand
looking through branches catching this sherbet sunset through different views, mighty is a fortress angled amongst dipping hallows as they weave groove. the branches brittle, yet hold quite an aubergine scene there’s peach, pinks, and yellows, look, there’s even soft lavender too. they seem to be dancing, oh my, on soft feminine slopes, now listen: giggling dancing hues want to be noticed. a hush of snow takes on some gray, but doesn’t Winter, as she holds steady against warm days, generally fade this way?
focused amongst darkness, blind to a last chance and determined to count regrets. cherish, even the ending, with the promise to never forget, light sparks as it is extinguished and her heart flutters, yes.
a vision to enjoy, breathe rustic and pristine. with an ounce of curiosity I dream, what stories are held within-
is this beauty, as she stands, left for the taking, or is someone keeping watch? left to her own devises, her strength must continue, remain hopeful in winter. alone amongst the blanket of snow, she screams forlorn, however you see her and she remains yours. might she be worth the risk?
dreams surround a homesteading such as this, no amount of work could persuade them to leave. his heart was given so long ago, and the farm has held on ever since.
the birds sang quite rightly the day she pulled in, the tire was giving her fits. when he took his cap off and extended his hand, his eyes caused hers to lift, amused by the pink shade of shy she wore with her smile, he let off on his farmer’s tight grip.
hard became harder as sunsets created do-overs, and laughter filled the crisp winter air. facts remained, but pleasure pursued as two strangers became one another, encouraging life to come tumbling after.
glows does the moon beyond the branches, which held verdant prisms of summertime, rich with thoughts of what could be come daylight.
a star just to the north points towards a path I’m unsure of but regrettably stare into, the cold air touches the tears I shed for the prayers I’ve said, nothing makes sense as the fairytale ends.
night, oh night, you shout at me so, what shall come of my young soul; trapped in a body at the peak of her age clouds bustle by, such hurry I ponder what awaits just past the horizon of a foolish wish, held back by this garden gate.
Oldest Daughter & Red Headed Sister 