Vulnerability

we’re supposed to be thankful,
even prepared for adventure,
makes us tougher.
I didnt ask, and strength is relative.

Bitter

Pristine in color
brings laughter along to play
causes wistfulness.
I’d beg, but daylight is fleeting.

Revelation

Snowflakes’ touch is delicate
lips ruby red; passionate
my tongue quick to taste.
The water slows, and life quiets.

Peace

With Change

when gathering
for granddad’s funeral
no one’s vehicle tires turned into the yard similarly.
even gravel sounded different as folks drove in and chose a place to park.
the earth where his brown Ford pickup had been parked for nearly 70 years
– until Uncle drove it away –
had grass growing again,
but had for nearly fifteen years, I suppose.
I wonder if I’m the only one
who noticed. I never asked.

Spirit of the Day

the concern within my eyes –
twilight assumes as its own,
my faith breathes.
gone is nearly today, as dust billows
life continues, work sets the pace
the echoes of yesterday
further behind, as tomorrow
eagery awaits.
Cicadas joyful within the trees,
remembering to honor those
before the sun sets,
pups howl against the breeze.
Light, use your glow,
dusk determines goodnight –
we’ll pause – alongside the tea kettle.
The future, only God knows, yet I whisper ideas as
the spirit of the day settles.

Grandpa

Rest In Peace

Today is going to be a hard day. We’re grateful to be together and we want to thank you for being here with us.

When dad asked if any of us wanted to speak my siblings looked at me, knowing I might just agree if they encouraged me enough.
Earlier this week I decided I’d better get my thoughts
down in preparation for a service but they didn’t arrive. Last night at 10:30 my words finally found me.

Grandpa had a son who
arrived every morning for coffee – a confidant –
a daughter who knew the best time
to call for a long chat, – best of friends – and a son
who made the best pancakes he’d ever
had – a companion.

Do I talk about harvest, a good coupon for the grocery store or hearty breakfast food? None. These three knew their father. But did we…

All I could think of when I heard the news was how well Grandpa massaged Grandma’s feet with peppermint lotion every night in the living room. I think that sticks with me even today as a beautiful reminder of how precious
love is but I knew there was more of the man I wanted to share today.

I guess you could say we were the first four of his eight grandchildren. The Nebraskans –
first ones to test his nerves, to make him chuckle –
in a way only grandpa’s do – and the first to ruin much of what he probably told
us to stay away from. We were the first four to eat all of his M&Ms – even the
ones hidden in the basement fruit room.

The next group of four grandchildren should thank us for helping Grandpa relax. Did he knock on the table harder or softer while playing cards with you guys? A man of few words and even less patience for shenanigans during card playing. Fairly certain it was a softer knock paired with a twinkle in his eye.

His two Kansas Girls, just down the street and his two
Colorado Boys, who loved fishing just as much as he did – you four were his pride and joy.

We know for certain, as a retired Grandpa, he loved watching you grow up. His perfected Grandpa chuckle was all thanks to you and his opportunity to finally be there for his loved ones activities.

We feel pretty confident Grandpa Willard taught us all how to work hard. If there
was daylight then there was time to weed the garden, move a water hose or tend to a flower bed. Grandpa ran the elevator and not a soul worried about how it was done. Grandpa always
knew how to do things the right way.

Grandpa taught us to enjoy the thrill of the ride.
A master at the wheel, he
often took time to drive us
for pizza. Pooches seemed to be his happy place. I can remember the pep
in his step when it was time for a good slice of pizza or the largest ice cream cone you’d ever see. When we
were kids, whether it was a trip for pizza, ice cream or supper in Denver, Grandpa
always delivered.

Mostly, we remember how serious Grandpa Willard took his family responsibility. Not a one of us ever felt neglect or concern for our safety with Grandpa near. He loved his family. The joy across his face was something we all vetted for. Making Grandpa proud was quite an accomplishment. His expectations were to do our best, don’t back down and remember to take care in what we were put in charge of.

Grandpa Willard was proud of us all. The hand tap, the adoring eye contact and the tight hugs proved it. We watched him love his children, Grandma,
and Dorothy this way. His love meant the world to all of us. There wasn’t much he missed or forgot. It may have
looked like we weren’t listening, Grandpa,
but we were – I promise.

Grandpa, when we got to your house yesterday you weren’t sitting in your kitchen chair waiting for us to pull in to the driveway, or looking for the prettiest finches in the backyard. You weren’t in your chair in the living room either. Its gonna take some time to get used to our new view.

We’ll do what we can to continue your legacy of hard work, a little fun and a lot of love for your great-grandchildren.
We love you.

P.S. Love you all too,

Aud ♡

Your Power

When days drag, here in the office alone and the optimism is low,

There’s this; your quick video of the open road.

My smile begins across the eyes, a sparkle creates a giggle, my mind senses your truth.

I’m not there but I feel the energy you often exude.

A tractor trailer rolls on down the road, spit causes the shine, and your power is felt by everyone as you drive along by.

Yet, Little Deuce Coupe, is the tune you’re singing, tapping your cowboy boot against the pedal: a musical pair unlike any other.

And I grin, because I’m proud of you, who you are, and wish I was riding along, Big Brother.

Nebraska’s Emerging Writers – An Anthology

Two years ago I was approached by a publishing company and asked if I would be interested in submitting a short story for an anthology being created by Z Publishing House.

I submitted a story I had shared many years ago and it was accepted.

The head space I was in at the time didn’t allow for traditional excitement over the process, nor did it increase my personal productivity for having been asked.

When the anthology shipped to my house, instead of authentic joy over my name being included with other writers, I chose to pretend the publishing didn’t happen and hid my face.

I didn’t and don’t receive compensation for having been included, however, this process started something else entirely.

Soon, friends, very soon. ♡