Goodnight, Day
as simple as it seems,
nothing could have prepared us,
we’ve heard and we’ve seen,
how life gives, and we take for granted,
our daily routine.
The world appears different now and gravity settles in,
weighty, and morning merely hours ago,
city lights slowly turning on,
soon our capital’s night will show,
function becoming imperative, however,
’tis custom for nature to start the glow.
– Learning –
a collection of photos and poems.
While on my own, I rediscovered
pieces of who I am.
My heart leapt,
my soul weakened in reverence,
towards a pursuit, I’d maybe forgotten,
or possibly, extinguished
even discarded because I was different.
Small moments,
where,
I proved to be –
a someone. Found,
amongst many.
I saw you, too.
– Learning –
a collection of photos and poems.
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.
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.
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.
. . . 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
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.
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.
explosive tones embrace our evening sky – breathless
twilight reaching out,
“wait for me, just one more thought!”
a vision of desperation
but far too beautiful for anyone to say
no, thank you.
lavender billowing blossom
freckles peppered properly
peaceful, pure and plum
her post poised pointedly
a vast verdent variety
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.
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.
to admire – positive judgement
assume greatness
adoration – deepened affection
fulfilled within greatness
to consume – accede desire
ravenous acts of duty
obssess – diminish reality
mistreat self
magic seemed to crackle its way
through the clouds for twilight
tonight,
a sparkler held by the hand we all know.
little orbs of hot air spun bright
spehers of knowledge,
seemed to be blown
just out of reach from where
I stood,
yet life looked alive as
the pastels spread
and something felt just as
it should.
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 ♡
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. ♡
my emotions, ever present;
continue,
some linger creating a smile
others invite weakness,
which in time fades, as I press
further into the day.
the hope is still there, the daydreaming;
visions of what could be, dancing before me.
Although out of reach,
there’s knowledge love belongs to many,
and I’m grateful to have witnessed.
Oldest Daughter & Red Headed Sister 