When life ceases to be what it has always been, a change in direction is rarely easy. Yet, the path brings hope after all the work if we’re willing. We dig in as nature allows, planting goals with the sun on our backs. Agreeing to another’s map and wisdom presents challenge, and a founding – isn’t this where trust begins? One day barn owls will roost, keeping guard at the start of twilight. A soft howl from an old friend at the tree line, or the bellow of cattle will reassure, so that we might tend the love growing around us. Peace surrounding the verdant hues of God’s plan, and our ability to listen.
“We had the strength to raise them, we will have the strength to let them go …”
– The Waltons
A friend sent me that quote a few days ago. Soo, true.
I’m sat here, finally, after a busy day. I just read great news from both kids (6 hours after the fact), if I could pat myself on the back I probably would, but I know single moms rarely accomplish big things without help from many. Life is a crazy ride, and I’m so grateful for it. I’ve settled in to empty nesting finally, yet I wish I was with both of them celebrating their accomplishments.
Anyway, just one more quick story from today. Been a heck of a day. ♡
Love you, Aud.
I helped care for a man today who had recently gone to heaven. It was my privilege to do so, even if some would say it’s just my job.
He was the epitome of a real Nebraskan. A Nebraska Gentleman, he served his country, he raised his family, his wife had been cherished, he cared for his farm and community, all the while serving his church.
He taught grown men how to farm in the 1950s, after Korea, and did very well farming his own land. When many folks were selling in the 1980s, he was just hitting his stride. He had a helluva stride, too. I looked forward to seeing his face on Sunday mornings. He would’ve been just my type. Well dressed, and smelled good too, even at over 90, you could see him driving his vehicle to play cards with the boys, or walking to church on a beautiful Spring morning. He was humble, soft spoken, yet incredibly certain, he paid attention to detail and always asked about my children. The true enjoyment on his face over their accomplishments created the best feeling inside of me. He truly cared. I’ll miss him. His presence brought normalcy to my week. I live with regret. I didn’t tell him how impressed I was by his just being HIM.
It was an honor to serve his family today. 95 years – well done, good and faithful servant.
Monochrome sets the scene sneak away for a peek out West of town. Creation mellows at about sunset, and the prairie soothes a concerning brow. Technology, news, just one more issue, back then, we’ll agree, was priceless compared to now.
Tailgate down, jump up – have a seat snuggle in close, let’s dream. No snow to speak of is cause for concern, forgo the complaints, smile, then breathe in deep. There’s water in the Platte, plenty of hay stacked up, and dry boots still warming our feet.
Giggles cause chuckles and life begins to make sense. A porch about here would work out nice, a tire swing for the grandkids with no need for a fence. Leaning into twilight , she’ll manifest –
Waving goodbye to choas – and life a little less tense.
Early summer grounds keeping… We’ll bale hay another day, there’s fish biting, and the sky’s blue, I hear a voice inside me say. Grass is still short over here, let’s sit and tell each other stories. A cardinal calls from over yonder seems simple, but they bring me to you. Verdant pops over azure brilliantly as I lay down to stretch my back. Wind will catch a branch, rhythmic in its timing, and life’s hectic pace slows, my breath less demanding. Nourishment calms a craving, yet this fruit is barely listening. And nothing, no, nothing is ever just perfect. Who would want to exist that way…
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.
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?
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.
drove this afternoon, so I wouldn’t have to listen to my thoughts the music helped, but I keep thinking on how everything has changed.
no, not just foliage within the trees or in the depths of the ditches, but in all cases. there’s an old homestead I wanted to take pictures of, my destination was set for the day. Go back and visit what makes sense, Aud.
as I stopped to turn in, a wedding was just letting out, I smiled at their choice of location. Country, prairie and simple seems easy. how fun to imagine his stare and all the dresses, the devotion and all the extras.
the children are safe after a weekend with their father, pleasantries were extended, college life in full swing and real life looks good on them even from afar, babies no longer, maybe now momma should breathe.
as night settles in – outside – I gave thanks for the light of the moon, peeking through the leaves still green, as bright as a headlamp, it would seem, and brought with it an element of peace.
my prayers for you the same today as yesterday, and I’ll visit them again with each tomorrow. yes, so much is changing and maybe it’s time, yet I’m fully aware, even with faith in our Lord, I am frightened and full of sorrow.
what is time without a watchful eye, til color fades, we mustn’t gray tones allow hope say it is so, dear one. how is it my hands feel the road and its bumps, while tires roll atop – proof we’ve been here before and what a journey it was. clouds become pillows, for murmurs under the sheets, and the rain in the distance a melody I remember and cherish, please believe. today is full of beauty, I smirk yet again. passionate in the ordinary I shall remain, and glimpses of tomorrows shall nudge me forward, across the plains.
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.
Driving the farthest eastern reaches of the Sandhills as this scene beckoned. Was it the water, sunset or hills calling names? The topography, a sensuous mastermind, plays within thoughts while memories flood the present.
How dare it.
Just as beauty sets in, and atop the already gorgeous scene, to share this – would have been the only cherished wish left to whisper. A hand held. Hard kiss, even tug of the hair and a reminding of the natural, even recommended design for an alliance.
Useless comes to mind, but doesn’t it always? Untrustworthy. Less than. Nothing deemed attractive found near not even near, by not just one, but from many.
Wicked is fate as she tosses over another just out of reach, if only the physical qualities found irresistible and encouraged were obtainable by another’s remnants. Would life continue to offer beauty with hopes someone might see?
thunder sounds like the past why do I listen? deep moans of the rumble cause an aching below, one I no longer yearn for, but I do. Passion find me determined, my plea.
Oldest Daughter & Red Headed Sister 