either way, we’ve all learned
and it’s been a year.
Saffron and Amber reveal their dress,
I sit and wonder how it’s possible, Winter,
how beauty presents as a mess, yet is defined by the eye.
Dirt needs its rest, leave the weeds, even
a fixed tin roof allows for dry, so
let nature grow – haphazardly.
Disrobe the world, let them be,
focused on how to heal.
Honestly? He didn’t really need me.
Sometimes people don’t realize what they’ve been offered, is room to grow,
space to breathe, heal, try something new, make decisions, and even complete final drafts.
Care: It isn’t always a verb. ‘Tis also a noun. The provision towards what is necessary; to apply consideration to a situation to avoid further damage or risk.
The beauty in love – space to grow – is in the offer to step aside in hopes of growth succeeding. Knowing full well everything may change, and we no longer matter.
Trust is felt, and when it isn’t given in return, we sense the void – feel the lack of – quite like someone’s arms length we clung to for years knowing we shouldn’t.
Love is the color of amber, to me, quite like every color squeezing in together, without erasing one for another in hopes of a happy ending.
Our compassion comes from a place of empathy,
or at least it should.
Who are we if we don’t wish the very best for someone?
Trials greet us when we’re not looking, sinking us into new depths.
Gratitude overwhelms the healing pieces of us, and it is there we should bow.
Humbled.
Nature nurtures, realize this at the very least, smile and allow the comfort as it exhales its release.
The summer rain has painted fields of sunflowers
and the August breeze cools the brow.
67 degrees in the Sandhills, and nobody can explain how.
Wheat with a sense of adventure has been brushed in for effect,
and life gets interesting
just beyond the hills,
as I hear, “You haven’t been over there yet.”
Push past the state line, skys bluer than azure await,
there’s small horse towns ’bout every 8 miles,
and remember, “When you leave, shut the gate.”
Fuel isn’t getting any cheaper, and time waits for no one,
so dismiss all the reasons why one shouldn’t,
smell the damp dirt, allow it to slide through your fingers, let the wind send it.
Press the pedal on the right, bite your lip, and
appreciate the sound of your giggle,
the prairie weaves over and under –
everything beyond here matters,
and you’re not getting any younger.
Early morning viewing, only the good die young, or so Billy says.
Caught once again between regret and dread.
I thought of you this morning, driving into OZ,
“Turn around, Aud.”
I didn’t, nearly cost me my life, and here I am
pleading with the essence of what’s left of you.
Lead me, hollar louder,
my constant plea is evident, ignored.
I sensed your protection, view from afar, then kids told me, but – yet
you are who you are.
the source:
reason for one’s distraction
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
despite what looms around her,
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.
Yours, Audrey
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.
The energy is there, just beyond the curve,
Light Fancier: the artist
and Lady Bluet, eager to serve.
Azure, she breathes against the sky
as twilight begins,
a multitude of versions
showered within.
Function introduces beauty –
nature sets the scene,
progress settles nicely,
and she’s encouraged to dream.
heard and its appreciated
regardless of distance
creation begins with ends
sight isnt always known
again, seems defeating, but beauty gains power, seen and listened to
graciously so
nature heals as do words
patience allowed
creates soft places
where new truly grows
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.
When you suddenly realize you may, in fact, be related to leprechauns….
verdant the color
destiny ravishingly sought
astonish them all
Enjoy your weekend!
~Aud
. . . 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.
hardened by what he’d seen; by life,
the reflection behind his eyes created a flutter within me
like a bee for honey, I was willing to work and eager.
I remained close.
Structured and protective, with experience as his guide, I longed for his reverence.
his strength I devoured silently but wanted to wrap myself in for all to see.
like many, I wasn’t chosen.
life is a mystery and voices often confused, so I remained hopeful – just in case.
yet the determination in his heart is wide, and he has much to attend to
and so it goes.
Oldest Daughter & Red Headed Sister 