Except for the Violets

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“Everything is terrible,” she said,
“except for daffodils.”
I nodded.
Everything seems so, so terrible—
except the daffodils are blooming.
And the lenten roses.
And forsythia and saucer magnolias.
Cherry blossoms tumble in the breeze
like spring snow.
Everything is terrible—
except for the violets scattered across the lawn
and the purple-red blossoms on the redbuds.
The hyacinths’ perfume smells heavenly.
Newborn leaves, feather-fine
sprout on the tulip poplar.
The whole treescape wears a green sheen.
Bluebirds are moving into the birdhouse.
Doves, cardinals, chickadees, sparrows
sing welcome to the warmth of spring,
Children run and play, smile and laugh.
I hold out both of my hands, palms up.
In one, I feel the weight of everything terrible,
in the other, the fullness of everything good,
for goodness and beauty have weight too.
I try to find the balance.
I wish all people,
everyone everywhere,
could hold only goodness, kindness, beauty.
But life has never been that way.
Maybe someday?
For now, I close my hand around the terrible,
feel it as a hard, jagged rock.
I cannot let it go, for it is real and demanding,
and I cry for it,
for I know that it does not have to be.
But then there is my other hand,
my always open hand,
holding the weight of goodness,
which is surprisingly firm and powerful
even as it sits soft as a butterfly in my hand.
Goodness, kindness, beauty—
in this hand is life,
creating and recreating,
loving and laughing,
always growing like spring.
This open hand is for sharing,
especially when it seems that everything is terrible.
Yes, there is this hard, jagged, hurtful rock,
but look—
see?
There is also a butterfly.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:


Shadow of the week:

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Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2025. All rights reserved.

Spring Storm Symphony

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A river of storm-strong air,
cool and damp,
poured through my open window,
and swept across my bed,
a stream of fresh silver morning
filled with whispers of rain to come,
this news confirmed moments later
by the timpani of the heavens,
a deep-throated drumroll of thunder,
or as we used to say,
angels bowling
or God’s voice rumbling,
“I am here, I am near.”
Then in one delicious moment,
the innocent-looking layer of clouds
releases a world-class waterfall.
It’s a symphony of storm—
wind, thunder, rain—
in a rushing cascade,
a wet, splashing tumble of spring
with surprise guest artists
singing through the storm:
a chorus of birds.
Each time the rain and wind diminish,
the birds crescendo.
Their whistles, chirps, and chortles
sound like celebration,
like gratitude,
like sweet contentment,
like aren’t you glad to be right here,
right now,
refreshed
on this splendid silver morning?
Yes, beautiful symphony.
Yes.
I am.
– kh –

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:


Shadow of the week:

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Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2025. All rights reserved.

Backyard Chorus Line

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A tiny chorus line dressed in green,
the daffodils stood,
posture impeccably straight
as they bordered the backyard garden,
their leaves cupping unopened blooms
waiting in place
to begin their bright show
even as chill winds blew
and snow frosted them white.
A friend suggested that I clip one,
bring it indoors,
put it in water.
It will bloom, she said.
So I slipped one into a vase
in the kitchen window.
Up and out it stretched,
a ruffled center on a star of petals,
a new beginning,
a glad greeting,
a promise of spring.
Then, this week,
the backyard chorus line bloomed,
its dancers in yellow,
faces to the sun,
spreading their arms,
nodding their heads,
keeping the promise,
announcing the joy of generous Spring
flinging herself wildly across the land,
bringing life out of dead-looking Winter.
She cheers us on with her extravagance,
her rich kaleidoscope of hope-filled messages.
The squares on the calendar say
that Spring is a few weeks away,
but already I hear her song.
Even now I see her smile.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:


Shadow of the week:

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Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2025. All rights reserved.

Who Knew?

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“There was an old woman tossed up in a basket,
Nineteen times as high as the moon;
And where she was going, I couldn’t but ask it,
For in her hand she carried a broom.

“‘Old woman, old woman, old woman,’ said I,
O whither, O whither, O whither so high?’
‘To sweep the cobwebs out of the sky!’
‘Shall I go with you?’ ‘Aye, by and by.’”

There was a time,
years and years ago,
when an old woman swept the sky,*
when the moon was the North Wind’s cookie,**
and when Mrs. Peck-Pigeon
went pecking for bread.***
Who knew that such a long ago time
would take root and grow into
a warm, spacious place-of-mind,
a pool of peace,
a cup of all-is-well within me.
Of course, out in the big, wide world,
all is not well
and was not well even then,
but my heart tiptoes back
to this landing place where I can
hold the open hand of hope,
find gentle joy,
and open again and again
the treasure box
of childhood dreams and imagining,
where all things are possible
and the currency of trade is
simple kindness.
Who knew that such a pool
of goodness and trust
would never dry up
but would be there still,
seventy years on and counting.
Who knew that it would call to me
on bright spring days,
that it would be my “land of nod”
on the darkest of nights.
Who could know?
But even now,
the moon is the North Wind’s cookie,
Mrs. Peck Pigeon still peck, peck, pecks,
the old woman still sweeps the sky.
I still ask her, “Shall I go with you?”
And she still replies,
“Aye. By and by.”
-kh

*nursery rhyme **Vachel Lindsay *** Eleanor Farjeon

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week – bluebirds!:

Shadow of the week:

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Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2025. All rights reserved.

The Wonder-Work of Winter

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We knew it would come—the snow.
It had been forecast for a week.
Still, the child in me cheers
when I wake to the still, soft gray morning
of a snow-covered world.
Every rooftop is a steep hill of white,
sharp edges sculpted smooth.
Snow lines the iron fence railings
and the spiral stairsteps next door.
It outlines tree branches and
rests in plump mounds on flowerpots.
Dollops of snow cream perch on pine branches,
a perfect picture for a holiday card.
Some little creature has left tracks
across the white-carpeted deck—
maybe a ‘possum or racoon.
A branch bobs in a thicket of evergreens
and a plop of snow falls.
The branch bobs again;
out pops a sparrow
who proceeds to make his own
wispy tracks across the yard.
I have sisters whose hearts say,
Let’s go out! Let’s play in the snow,
sled, ski, toss snowballs,
get red-cheeked and cold-nosed
and watch our breath form puffy clouds.
My heart says,
Let’s stay inside wrapped in a warm wool throw.
Let’s enjoy this art gallery of windows.
Isn’t it a joy to be so different,
some of us snow-babies stepping out,
some of us simply snuggling in,
content to watch the wonder-work,
the artistry of Winter.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:


Shadow of the week:

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Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2025. All rights reserved.

At the Tail End of Winter

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Joy is the crocus, who
does not wait for spring
but will push her way up
even through snow
to wake the world.
Fresh and new,
her purple peeks through
undaunted by chill wind,
bright in brown grass,
stretching up as if to say,
“See? Here I am!”
Or rather, “Here we are,”
for she brings sisters with her every year.
They rival the soon-to-come daffodils
and the Lenten roses
to be first to announce
the warm gladness of coming spring
even as the tail end of winter whips by.
Such small blooms,
they can come and go unnoticed.
But for those who watch
for early signs of spring,
the crocus is a generous grace.
She is hope.
She is faithful.
She is bold joy
on a cold day.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:


Shadow of the week:

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Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2025. All rights reserved.

Lasting the Winter

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Walking back to my house
from my mailbox,
I always look up
to where treetops touch the sky.
Today, I paused to count nests—
seven in different trees—
tucked high in the elbows of bare branches.
I first noticed them when foliage thinned
and leaves fell last fall.
So far, they’ve survived winter winds
and downpours of ice-chilled rain.
I’ve read that most birds
don’t return to last season’s nest.
They build fresh ones.
But I wonder if these old nests
have been a refuge for birds
caught in a cold winter drizzle.
Each seems an obvious oasis,
an inviting island under a field of clouds.
Or stars.
Or a crisp blue frosty sky.
I will not know if the birds return
to these nests,
for the trees will soon leaf out again,
and the nests will be hidden.

I think of those of us who are nesting,
holding space for family,
for friends.
In breezy, balmy seasons of life,
we’re sheltered and hidden and full.
But when branches are bare
and icy winds howl,
when darkness comes early
and stays late,
it’s then that we can look around and see
that we’re not the only tender woven safe space.
All along, there’s been another nearby,
and another,
and another.
Stay safe, nests and nesters.
Hold life and love and hope.
Stay strong through the winter winds.
Spring will come.
– kh

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:


Shadow of the week:

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Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2025. All rights reserved.

Night Has Not Fallen

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It’s early twilight,
that gray-blue time of evening
when the neighborhood eases into
the quieter hours of our day.
Chili is simmering on the stove
and the table is set,
so I sit in my rocking chair
to witness the world beyond windows,
to watch the night fall.
“Fall” is a strange way to say it.
Night doesn’t really fall;
it slips in,
seeps through bare, laced branches,
slowly veils the hills.
Tonight the sky is cloud-covered,
a full sweep of blue-gray
gradually growing violet in the east
as if heaven’s light switch
is slowly dimming the day.
It’s a peaceful drift,
moment by moment
as the sky lets go of its dusky gray
and drapes itself in a deepening blue
inviting all who pause and watch
to enter its ease,
to breathe its comfort,
to settle into the serenity of evening
and experience the magic of
twilight blue turning into velvet dark,
whispering calm to a world
that will soon settle into sleep.
No, night has not fallen.
It has snuggled in.
-kh-

 

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week (made by sun shining through a bottle of syrup):

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Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2025. All rights reserved.

The Wisdom of the Ink

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Aprons,
plastic tablecloth,
printer paper,
black ink,
paper towels,
wet rags,
we were ready to create,
my grandson and I.
After I gave the requisite precautions,
he dripped and dribbled
black ink on white paper
wherever he chose.
Then he tipped the paper—
gently, I cautioned again,
grandma that I am—
angled the paper one way,
then the other.
Black paint eased into flowing lines,
pooled here and there,
crept across the page
as one young boy drifted
into the fascination
of the flow and spread of black rivers
mapping themselves into tiny streams
curving,
turning corners,
intersecting.
To no one but the ink,
he softly said,
“Time to create passages,
connect with others,
and make peace.”
Amen, I thought.
May it be.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Here’s part of my grandson’s ink picture:

Nature of the week:


Shadow of the week:

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Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2025. All rights reserved.

Winter’s Brittle Beauty

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I am warm-weather at heart,
loving all things green and growing,
but when bare elms stretch
in latticework across the sky
and pine branches bow to a cold, fresh wind,
when clouds layer softly in shadowed grays,
and dried blooms and crisp leaves stand stiff as straw,
when marigold seed pods dangle on their stalks,
and basil seeds shelter on tiers of miniature pagodas,
when frost dusts shingles,
and smoke rises in lazy curls from a neighbor’s chimney
and the scent of wood smoke drifts through the air,
when a chilly in-breath fills my lungs and clears my head,
then I am grateful for Winter,
for her brittle beauty,
for Nature’s season of rest.
The world seems somehow simpler,
and I am simply grateful.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:


Shadow of the week:

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Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2025. All rights reserved.