A Day In The Life

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. . . 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

Pursuit

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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.

Persuasion

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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.

Discovery

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I miss the days of lost in cerulean and clouds,
even though searching for you came with a cost,
my mind ardently invented you as I lie on the ground.

moments screamed past me then, and there’s no getting them back,
yet I feel fulfilled when memories rush in,
blessed, some would say to forget what I lacked.

a path was forged, one I so desperately needed,
the voice inside me tasted like screaming –
to most it wouldn’t make sense but free, my friend, isn’t always freedom.

Summons

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ringlets the color of copper pennies
arms stretched out into blue,
wildflowers in lilac are hidden
yet aching to appear.

a vision in giggles while the swoosh
of her skirt passes through,
blissful pockets of lush blankets,
as the sun summons her here.

now bound in heaven upon earth
swells abide in precise hues
did Aurora lead the way or
simply twilight, craving her near.

Grandpa

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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 ♡

Nebraska’s Emerging Writers – An Anthology

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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. ♡

The Beholder

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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?

Where I Went Wrong

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I flew in in the dark of night,
saw the lights of a city to where I’d never been.


In to a state I’d not once seen,
and a part of the country still foreign to me.


Welcomed with open arms, yet I could not feel them.


Searching aimlessly by my own accord,
instead of submitting to the joys of freedom;


ones offered by just stepping off the plane.

And when I left, I called and told him about the cookies.