February 2024
Bio Note: The beauty of the seasons on these Great Plains just begs to be written about, so I obey and pick up my laptop and try to give words to the wonders I see. As many years as I have lived here, I never get tired of my surroundings and can't wait to greet each morning just to see the skies and land.
I Will Grow Old
on this little farm
like the dilapidated shed
losing its shingles,
its door,
and broken boards,
and I want to—
I want to fit in with the setting,
that says I’ve paid my dues,
served my purpose—and still try.
I want to stand out under
the ancient starry sky,
silent and luminous,
and still sparkle with such intensity
in my old, old age.
I want always to love and to feel,
to grow and continue to know
the beauty
of winter snows
of spring and summer green glows,
of autumn golden shows,
of seasonal birds that come and go.
And like the Blue Wild Indigo,
I’ll turn silvery-gray
and tumble away.
Thoughts During the Ice Storm
I knew the world would shut down today—
my phone kept warning me of the coming ice storm.
The winds blew bitter cold last night
as the sky grew black,
and the front moved in.
It’s February, so what did I expect?
The trees are bare, the ground hard,
and because the Plains cried
iced tears, lamenting last night’s storm,
this morning, the world is white with holiness.
Icicles hang from the roof,
like a Psalm from David’s harp.
In the distance, snow-covered cows
huddle by the white-powdered evergreens.
The cats wait by the garage door to be fed—
their paw prints trail from the shed.
Soon the sun will be out in full force,
melting these snow-filled fields,
where the winter birds glean the fallen corn
in the stalks as they move through
this time and space, navigating the seasons
with cues from the sun and stars.
The wisdom this world possesses
in its unending seed time and harvest,
cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night
is marvelous. Once the ice is gone,
we’ll slip through these days like shadows,
the sun behind us,
giving us the illusion that we are greater
and have longer than we think—
dust that we are.
Her Memorable Trip to the Omaha Zoo
in memory of Robbie Gerlach
After she retired, she volunteered
for classroom activities and field trips—
she adored children.
Children felt her love and surrounded
her, the peacock’s feathers in full plumage,
adding beauty to her life.
So she signed up to help take the first graders
to the Henry Dorley Zoo at the end of May.
The forecast was warm—she knew it’d be hot,
she knew there’d be lots of walking, lots of tired little legs,
lots of conversations that she’d laugh for days about
and say, again, “I should write a book.”
No matter what she was helping with,
she always said, “The children were exceptional today.
They did so well,” and she was always amazed
at how well all of the children did that day.
The children loved the zoo animals, rested in covered areas like the dozing bears,
ate snacks, drank lots of water, and made lots of bathroom trips.
As she waited under a shade tree for another volunteer and a few children,
a little boy--not with the first graders--who had left his parents’ side,
plopped down beside her,
looked up at her with his big blue eyes and said in a cheerful voice,
“Well, hello, old lady!”
Caught up in his sincerity and sweetness, she responded, “Well, hi!”
She laughed all that bus ride home,
surprised by the joy of being called “old lady”
by such a cute little guy she’d just met,
who was just calling things as he saw them,
surely a story for her future book.
©2024 Judy Lorenzen
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