Humility overwhelms women like me.
When the feeling arises,
power and heat settle on my cheekbones,
a blushing arrives, and they’ll all know it.
My eyes weaken and bashfully divert theirs.
Kick a rock and draw a heart with my toe,
as I take in the moment.
Jointure –
And then, when I, Momma, regain composure,
I’m fiercely proud looking toward my son’s window.
I ponder what he has learned here and if he will use it for good. Always.
– Learning –
a collection of photos and poems
There is a saying on my phone’s lock screen which reads:
Have you seen today’s beauty?
It was put there years ago by a friend. Probably my best friend.
I wondered if I’d see beauty in D.C.
A city full of concrete and noise,
I considered rock concerts from my past,
welcome to the jungle.
I imagined where everyone who accompanied
and passed me down the sidewalk, was going.
I read their faces as best I could. I thought I’d see stress, overload, and even concern. I did.
But I also saw joy, friendship, health, and love amongst the lights and stone.
I must have questioned if I would …
The sky was blue most days, what’s not to celebrate?
People find companionship with one another over similarities,
the obvious return is doing life together.
Accepting what our hearts and bodies need is universal, and so we work to treat them well.
We’re more alike than we are different, I’m sure
someone important came up with the saying.
But we are different, and embracing this is key.
– Learning –
A collection of photos and poems from D.C.
My 50th birthday is here. I’ve a hard time believing it, but I’ve accepted its arrival. There isn’t much I need, rarely anything, but as birthdays do, they often introduce the question, and so I ponder the idea tonight.
Still nothing.
After a week in D.C. and time to breathe, I’ve come to the realization I need nothing, and for this, I am eternally grateful.
What I want is something entirely different. Those around me can not give me this this I want, so much more goes into it.
*** This This
This this I want isn’t found, it’s given.
This this I want isn’t fair, it’s surprising.
This this I want isn’t impractical, it’s the opposite of.
This this I want isn’t mine, and I’ve gotten used to this…
This this I want isn’t close, but it’s out there somewhere.
Law school decisions
East Coast versus the Midwest
Top ranked future
I took a drive a couple of days ago. I was in the mood for nostalgia. Snow days had come up in about every conversation I’d had in town, and I got to thinking. I thought about growing up on Hickory and wanted a picture of days gone by. Not sure why Hickory Street popped into my thoughts, but maybe it was the 16 inches of snow we received last week and the “squall” we’d experienced on Thursday. (Ya, think?!?)
Every child in the area had gone down this hill, which seemed bigger than it appears, if they were willing to hoof it from across the way. The “way” being the last and newest neighborhood on the edge of town. The hill spanned for about half a city block. The use of city to help describe a distance leaves me amused. Hickory was a gravel road. This hill, for all intents and purposes, was in the country.
A well traveled road it would seem to us at the time but short of the mailman, families up the road and man who lived further to the east it was a quiet route – not taken by many or at all on winter days. This allowed for tunnels, igloos and ramps to be built on and for the hill. Often times we’d trade in wet gloves for socks out of the clean laundry basket mom left sitting on the deep freeze. She’d hollar at us to use the old bread bags. The ones collected all year to wrap around mittens. In an instant handmade winter gear became water proof, but boy did it make packing snow difficult and an even slower process.
The hill taught friends, my siblings and I a lot about team work. Our creativity and manpower steamed forward by the hour. Nothing kept us from returning to a group project after lunch if our mothers would allow it.
My mind’s eye sees the hill and the narrow walkway at the top by the barbed wire fence. We’d created a walking path at the top in an effort to travel from one house to the other during non wintery months, and everyone knew it was there. It was handy. Back and forth we’d go all day long changing the location of play. It was a lot like a highway and we had created it all on our own. This path kept us safely off the road.
On snow days, we’d plop our sleds on to the path. It was there under the snow somewhere, and we would pile on with the nose headed south. Everyone gripping the friend’s legs behind them as a way to hold on we’dcount down 3 – 2 – 1 – .
And then down, we’d go.
directional pull
whitely season of splendor
brutal gut punch
Watching snow fall, not blow, but spill beautifully as if paid to do so by Hollywood, I find myself smiling. We could have prayed for years and never received this gorgeous day. Hours of complete enjoyment were ahead. We needed the moisture, and I knew we were finally seeing it, so contentment overwhelmed my heart.
I recalled a conversation about precisely how many feet of snow it would take for an inch of rainfall – yet I can’t for the life of me remember what the amount was, and so I giggle. Typical Audrey. I used to have people around to remember those details. I try not to allow any negative thoughts when I can’t recall useful data because this, some would see as irresponsible, is me. I’ll chalk it up to not necessary enough and move on with smirk across my lips.
I find pleasure scooping snow while snowflakes fall one after another, some bigger than others. Not a breeze to be found, curious how we don’t normally refer to the wind as a breeze in the wintertime, but somehow yesterday the lack of came to me as such, while I threw another scoop of white to my left. Life appearing so peaceful and possibly perfect.
While others wait to forge a path outside, I find serenity scampering about doing small things, all the while listening for nature to wake. Silly squirrel presses forward slowly and leaps for a nearby tree. I consider how useful a new bird feeder would have been this morning and silently scold myself for not making that a priority in September and all the months that followed. It appears I was successful in punishing myself, although I had no idea I would be doing so at the time. Kept from the enjoyment I find in watching for cardinals, but made a note to get a new one next time I was in town. We shall see.
I ponder the quiet outdoors and how well I can hear myself breathe. My mind is open to possibilities, and how easy life can is if we stop and just do what comes naturally. Maybe you find it nonsensical, but a winter storm energizes me. All my daily musts are replaced by the here and now – and I do so love living in the moment as there is less time to ponder the what ifs. My muscles are tender, yet my mind clear.
* Just some thoughts & a silly little picture of the before and after of yesterday’s snowfall. I adore how safe the green bush appears after the snow. One powerfully protected by the other, it seems. Love that.
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.
Hustling season
Verdant reminds me of you
Wandering about
How can it possibly be December? Praying you are well. Always.
Love you, Aud
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.
I watched the sun set tonight. She is such a beauty sliding behind the cedars.
Favorite game – hide and seek.
Her curve seems to hug “just right”around the tips, and well, I guess I’ve always thought so…
A small smile turned up around my cheeks, a flushing of pink appeared,
and then I thanked her for rising this morning.
As if to wink, she paused and then moved on, as one should, I suppose.
I apologized to Her today.
Closed my eyes and found Her at the front door.
She allowed me in willingly. She was smiling,
yet, I know now. She really had no idea.
No idea of just how bleak the situation.
Her family was torn apart. Poor, but not as poor as others. Street smart, but no clue on how to be a young lady or a woman. Smart. Oh, so smart. She knew when to turn on the charm and when to keep busy. Survival was key. She watched other mommas. She would just do what they did.
I remembered every smell, room color and contents of the house. I surprised myself. I hadn’t thought back to those days since I’d left.
Young and afraid, but who could really tell? Known as a hard worker. One who had overcome circumstances beyond her control. Just stay out of Her way.
Control. If She could control her surroundings She would survive and so would they.
I looked down into the basement. Wooden steps down to the dirt floor, the floor Dad would have gotten to eventually. For now it was a safe place to go during tornado season. The smell flooded back into my soul, as I recalled the spot I’d learned to whistle. Watched dirt flow through the slits of my fingers. The smell was oddly comforting. She smiled at me. Proud of my memory. Crowded down there but safe.
She held my hand as we made our way around the house. The place I’d left little Audrey the day I moved away. I occurred to me I had no memory of whether or not I’d said goodbye. I just drove away in the red Granada. She was just happy to have me home again.
We looked at the framed school pictures on the wall in the living room. Big bangs, smiles and oversized sweatshirts for a football team we’d probably never see play outside of a television screen, yet somehow our devotion was strong. They were staring back at me. She – they- tried so hard to fit in. I watched the four of us run in a circle once again to the tune of the Duke’s of Hazzard theme song, while dad laughed. The fastest? Oh, the competition was fierce. She giggled. We knew it was never us.
The screen door to the back porch opened as we made our way outside. I caught a glimpse of the grey paint curling and slowly peeling away from the boards used to create a floor. She looked on with regret and a bit forlorn, knowing we’d spent hours pulling it off, after mom and dad had spent so much time and money painting it on.
I told Her I was sorry for leaving her here in the house. I hadn’t taken her somewhere to heal, to dream bigger or live fully. I explained to Her things had changed. We were okay, and this time when I left, she would come along. She could finally rest. I whispered how proud I was of her bravery.
She would experience joy in new places and be allowed to strive for anything. I explained how none of this was her fault. And she wasn’t going to be clinching on to bits of normalcy any longer. I reassured Her. I combed her hair, washed her face, and finished all the laundry piling up at the back of the house. Her job was done. We were leaving. No one was staying in that grey house another day.
– 15 minutes – no editing – write it out – Set it free –
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
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!
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
Oldest Daughter & Red Headed Sister 