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# Village
- URL: https://dianaludwick.com/village/
- Published: 2026-01-29T19:21:12.000Z
- Updated: 2026-10-24T20:12:21.000Z
- Description: “Village," an homage to community forged and fought for, found and foraged. Poem 029 in a series of 365 poems written by Diana Ludwick in 2026. Photo, "The Sledder," by Diana Ludwick (c) 2026.
- Author: Diana Ludwick
- Tags: 2026 Poetry Challenge, Poems, Community, Friends, friendship, Ice, Kids, Neighbors, Networks, parenting, Snow, Village, Winter, #Migrated-1792872215677, #wp, #wp-post, #Import 2026-10-24 20:03

We have all heard of that Village  
The one it takes to raise a human  
The one required to maintain perspective  
The one sought to stay sane.  
  
Where is this Village in 2026?  
It’s not on a map; GPS cannot help you.  
It is less geographic than spectral  
But if you squint, you can find it.  
  
The Village resides in the sigh of  
the fourth snow day of the week  
in playrooms spun into slumber retreats.  
In minivans spinning over ice to  
ferry a gaggle of kids to snow forts.  
  
This vaunted Village swirls in  
the hot skillets in which a slew of   
pancakes rise and brown before  
being grabbed and gobbled by kin,  
genetic and otherwise.  
  
That Village is in the pixels of the  
FaceTime calls where youth   
conscientiously consult on   
history projects imminently due,  
and in offers of   
community theatre tickets  
to cheer on   
neighbors-turned-burgeoning stars.  
  
This Village is felt  
in the transformation of   
winter-bleak, dormant front yards  
into slick sledding hills filled with  
the shrieks and squeals of hordes of   
as-yet-unknown local children.  
  
Our Village is alive within   
an invitation for walk-over  
cocktails and couch chats,   
that is, if your boots can   
handle the snow drifts.  
  
The Village lives within  
the neighborhood listserv,  
wherein self-appointed leaders   
call on our elected officials for  
expedited plow service.  
Where elderly women plead for  
rides and groceries so that   
millennial residents,   
hearing the siren call,   
feel compelled to jump in,   
once, twice, again until   
intergenerational friendships bloom.  
  
That Village appears   
in the teachers  
who preemptively lobby the   
county for extensions on   
mandatory assignments.   
In medical professionals who   
offer last-minute virtual care  
in lieu of both parties   
chipping cars out from the   
plow-hardened icebergs lining   
the street like arctic hay bales.  
  
This Village vibrates   
in virtual chats  
held with recent strangers,   
now new friends,   
who are vulnerable with  
one another, open already,   
as we navigate the   
vagaries of our next   
career pivot or life chapter.  
  
The Village presents itself in those  
text messages that convey:  
*"Keep a lookout!* 
*They're on their way.* 
*They claim they can* 
*walk home alone...* 
*but I am here* 
*to drive them,* 
*if you need."*  
  
Our Village —   
the one we have  
sought for so long  
the one we paid for with   
life overhauls   
and hefty local taxes  
and wishes   
cast to the sky  
on empty playgrounds —   
now appears   
all around us,   
embracing us   
with enrichment  
in laughter and meals  
by the hearth,  
in comfort and company.  
  
The Village resounds in the   
Emergency Alert push notification  
that perkily pings all iphones in  
the region with a dreaded message:  
CODE RED - Schools CLOSED on Friday.   
  
***"I am here...if you need."***  
  
Withhold that roll of eyes,  
because what they say is true.  
  
It wholly does take a Village —   
and I am so grateful that   
my Village found me.