Poetry

I miss snow.

I miss my flurry friend.

It's been a few years

since it's come for a lingering visit,

the kind that takes me back to my childhood

no matter the aches in my bones

and joints

or back

or hips

and head.

I miss the play. 

The dance in the sky

that drifts to my soul — 

those floating, fluttering, crystalline blossoms

that alight upon an eyelash 

delicate as a lover's kiss,

yet in numbers,

possess the power to halt the world.

I miss experiencing a clean slate, 

literally

then internalizing it, 

figuratively.

The calm and quiet 

muting, soothing, 

allowing a restless mind 

a few still moments.

I miss the reason for the word

cozy

after a workout shoveling.

Horses tucked in the barn

hay up to their knees

soft light on

floofy blanket and cat in my lap,

good book in my hand,

honeyed hot tea at my side,

good dog at my feet.

Life in a snow globe.

I miss my friend snow.

Forever Fields

By Julie Christen

In a place of endless prairie

And sweeping grassy land,

Runs a rare, historic herd

I call the ancient band.

The winds eternal carry them

O’er butte and valley floor,

Whisp’ring tales and legends

Of those who’ve gone before.

Overo and dun,

Jet black and stealy roan,

Strawberry and silver,

They’re now forever home.

Grey Wolf, Hawkeye and Target,

Black Fox, Midnight, Bad Toe,

Wolf Vixen, Katz and Jumping Mouse,

Our noble Grandpa Smoke.

In endless youth they kick and frolic,

Race and bite and play

They echo hist’ry’s lessons,

Within those here today.

Among the flow’rs, within the rain,

Part of the gentle sun,

Through windswept manes and feathered locks

Their story still lives on.

I honor those who’ve traveled to

A place where I imagine

Forever fields of majesty

Preserve Nokota legend.

 I Believe In Fathers

By Julie Christen

I believe a father is more valuable than our modern society will admit.

I believe a father is more sensitive than most sons and daughters allow themselves to realize.

I believe a father’s arms are the strongest, safest place for a baby, a child, and teen.

I believe a father’s strength is forged in flames of worry, heartache, and troubles.

I believe a father’s ability to provide is a daily triumph rippled with doubt.

I believe a father struggles and wonders if he is good enough no matter his efforts.

I believe a father’s desire to protect his family is true, and deep, and burning with fear.

I believe a father’s love is constant and unshakeable, no matter the distractions.

I believe a father makes mistakes and is held to blame far too long.

I believe a father is not perfect but is expected to be.

I believe a father could stand to hear I love you, I need you, I thank you.

Home Recipe

By Julie Christen

What does it take to create a home?

A place where you’ll never again feel alone?

If it was all written on a recipe card,

I bet it’d be complex, but prob’ly not hard.

You’d start with a crate full of laughter for flavor,

Then mix in a dozen warm memories to savor.

A bowl full of ideas, hopes, and big plans,

A heart full of love you’d fold in with your hands.

Then you’d sprinkle a palm full of hard lessons learned,

And season it all with each triumph you earn.

Next you’d mix it all up with some family and friends,

And mash it and mold it, smooth out bumps and bends.

The secret ingredients: heritage and advice

Will be just what it needs to add mystery and spice.

You’d bake it inside four walls strong and sturdy

For as long as it takes … be it one year or thirty.

You’ll know when it’s ready; it’ll be no surprise

And serve generous portions to all who stop by.

Yes, that’s how that recipe card would look

If it were a part of a homemade cookbook.