“Lovely,” She Said

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

Last week at the grocery store
as I reached for my usual carton of eggs,
the brown ones,
the large ones,
chilled and nesting
in soft gray cardboard,
I heard a woman’s voice behind me.
“Lovely eggs,” she murmured.
“Lovely eggs.”
I turned to look.
“Sorry,” said the young woman
scanning the stacked shelves,
“I’m talking to myself.”
I smiled. “No need to be sorry.
It’s a beautiful thing to say.”
I turned back to the carton I held,
which now felt precious,
a fragile treasure.
I gently opened it,
checked each egg for cracks,
as I always do,
but this time with a sense of wonder.
What a marvel an egg is.
Truly, a holy marvel.
Round, smooth, a miracle in a shell,
it holds life—
in one form to fuel me,
in another, to morph into its own small self.
I have been in awe of eggs for days now.
And this week when I went to the store,
I paused before the bin of bananas.
“Lovely bananas,” I murmured.
“Lovely.”
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

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Following the Fingerprints

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

A morning shower has cocooned us
in clouds of soft silver gray,
embroidering our window screens
with seed pearls of glinting, dewy
droplets.
I am warming myself with hot coffee,
not in my usual smoothly curved,
factory-fashioned white cup
but in a handmade pottery mug
ringed by ridges
formed by the potter’s fingers
deftly pinching and pulling the clay
as it whirled on a wheel somewhere.
This mug is glazed shiny brown on the outside,
light pink-lavender within,
though the pink is now halfway hidden
by steaming coffee.
As I sip, I notice the potter’s thumbprint,
a dip pressed with purpose
exactly at the point
where the handle meets the mug’s rim,
a place where my thumb also rests
to hold the mug.
It’s a tiny, thoughtful gift
from someone I’ll never meet.
My right hand fingers hug the handle,
and my thumb rests in the thumbprint.
My left-hand fingers curve around the mug,
finding and following the fingerprints of the potter.
As I hold this mug,
I hold the potter’s hand, and
even though I’ll never know the potter,
I feel a genuine gesture of generosity,
a connection of kindness,
of comfort,
of kinship.
I’m grateful for this unknown potter
whose presence in this present moment
is bringing warmth and goodness
to the start of a soft,
silver gray day.
-kh-

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Biting Into a New Year

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

This time of year,
the morning sun rises
in the bamboo next door,
sparkling through breezy leaves
as it outshines the night-stars,
sends them into hiding.
These are the dawns,
crisp, cold, and snappy,
that make biting into this new year
feel like biting into a fresh, crisp apple,
the first crunch and snap,
first fistful of round red goodness,
first taste of tart sweetness,
first scent of the promise of joy,
first yes to the perfect imperfection
of wholeness,
of what I hold in my hand,
of what I hold in my heart,
of what I hope for.
A few days ago, I cut an apple in half
crosswise,
discovered again a star hidden inside,
a star holding seeds.
We think of our heart as heart-shaped,
but maybe it’s more star-shaped,
unseen
like deep-space stars tucked away in daytime,
like the star tucked away at the core of an apple,
holding seeds to scatter in this new year,
seeds of love and kindness,
grace and goodness,
help and hope.
As we bite into a new year,
may we look for the star in each other.
May we look for the star in ourselves.
May we be generous with the seeds we hold.
May we shine.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

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When Quiet is Loud

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

The last of the holiday guests
(grown children, their children,
and one new dog)
have just driven away, headed home.
There are sheets to wash,
floors to sweep,
leftovers to freeze,
gift boxes to put in the recycle,
but I sit down in my comfy chair
and simply listen.
I don’t want to miss this moment,
for it comes only once a year,
this moment when quiet is loud,
thick as dense fog,
and heavy from holding so much weight—
lots of laughter,
a few tears,
the eager energy of children,
the willing weariness of grownups,
newly made memories,
hopes for the future.
I take this time
(for silence this deep demands time)
to absorb it into my heart,
knowing I will carry this quiet
like a treasure.
I breathe into the absence of noise,
let it breathe itself into me,
let it thrum like a pulse.
A jet flies over.
A neighbor starts his leaf blower.
Birdsong breaks through.
There are sheets to wash,
floors to sweep,
leftovers to freeze,
gift boxes to put in the recycle,
and a rich quietness
to carry into a new year.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

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I Wonder About Dogs

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

From windows beside my desk,
my second-story perch,
I watch the weather change,
see the seasons come and go.
Another new year is on the way,
and I wonder what lies ahead.
But today sparkles with sunlight
defining sharp angles of rooftops
into bright brown triangles,
shaded rhombus shapes,
shingles hatched with pine tree shadows.
One garage roof slopes at a perfect slant
to show a snippet of the street beyond,
a few feet at most,
just enough to watch a small dog trot past,
in and out of frame.
A few seconds later, her human enters the scene
strides across, soon out of sight.
Before long, a larger dog ambles by,
followed by another dog-lover.
Then another dog and his person stroll past.
It looks to be a delightful dog-walking day.
(But I have a cat, and an old one at that.
I will not be walking my cat
no matter how glorious the weather.)
I wonder if the dogs know where they’re going.
I wonder if their walkers know.
I’ve been told that, unlike cats,
who attach to place,
dogs attach to people.
Dogs may not know where they’re going,
but they know who they’re going with,
so I imagine they’re quite happy
to be out and about.
As I head toward a new year,
as much as I’d like to tunnel
under the covers like a cat,
I’m facing the future more like a dog.
I don’t know where I’m going,
but I do know who I’m going with,
and that’s what really matters.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

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No Looking at the Calendar

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

A magenta dianthus peeked out of its pot
on my back deck this week,
its petals curled, shivering in the chill
but bright and hopeful anyway.
“Have you not seen the calendar?” I ask.
“It’s mid-December.
Tomorrow will be below freezing.”
But my garden does not look at the calendar,
does not care that I’m thinking Winter.
No, my garden feels its way day by day
according to the whims of the weather,
for seasons can be fickle,
can change in a heartbeat,
serve up winter in spring
or spring in winter.
So gardens ride the swing of the seasons,
sense the sway from fair to frosty,
frying pan hot to freezer cold.
Each plant, on its own timetable,
blooms or goes to seed
by some inborn instinct.
Here, today, halfway through December,
a neighbor’s tree is sprouting spring green.
A gaggle of black-eyed Susans
glow yellow-gold in the shy sunshine.
Purple pansies huddle together,
friendly-faced nodding gossips.
And the leaves of the lenten roses
are stretching up and out
to let the world know
we’ve not been forgotten;
they will soon bloom.
Nature’s wisdom says
ride the swing of the seasons,
for December can still bloom,
and swaying between fair and frosty
is the way life works.
Nature’s wisdom says the calendar does not dictate
when to bloom and when to fade.
-kh-

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Twenty-seven Degrees

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

Twenty-seven degrees.
A cardinal is caroling,
bright as a holiday ornament
in the bare branches of the elm tree.
Robins gather in a circle
around the heated birdbath.
I bundle up to go to the grocery store.
I feel rather chipmunkish in my habits,
scurrying out to get food,
hurrying home to halfway hibernate.
I have bought yeast
and flour and eggs and butter.
I have all the cozy ingredients
to bake bread.
And I do.
Fresh baked bread is comfort food,
gives the air a buttery warm smell.
I hold my cold hands
over the open oven door
where the rising heat drifts up and out
like the breath of a hot summer breeze.
Outside, the chilly joy of twenty-seven degrees.
Inside, the warm joy of an open oven door.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

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

Sharing a Shadow

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

I used to hold your hand as we walked,
shortening my stride to match
your preschool pace,
pausing to point out the double shadow,
one long, one short,
stretching out before us.
We waved at our shadow selves.
How could we not? I love shadows,
those soft, always-shifting shapes,
and these two were our ever-present friends.
You grew into a frustrated, hurry-up child
complaining, “You always have to stop
and take a picture of shadows.”
And, yes, I always did.
I always made you wait,
for shadows are my friends.
I suspect they might be yours, too.
Today, hanging decorations and
tall enough to reach the upper branches
of the Christmas tree,
you called, “Come and look.”
I stepped close, leaned in.
“See? There’s a shadow.” You pointed
to a birdhouse ornament
shadowed with feathery pine needles.
“I know you like shadows,” you said.
It was as close to saying “I love you”
as you may ever venture.
Such a small thing—
a tiny birdhouse,
a tiny shadow,
a brief comment,
a moment of pausing,
a moment of sharing a shadow,
but it filled my heart with wonder,
with gratitude,
with love.
So I guess
it was not such a small thing after all,
for it meant the world to me.
-kh-

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The Gathering Season

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

Carolina wren with up-tipped tail
is gathering seeds, her daily energy.
Squirrels with hurry-up focus
scramble through the yard
gathering and stashing Nature’s bounty—
berries from bushes,
nuts dangling precariously from tree limbs,
and tasty autumn delicacies
hidden under piles of crisp brown leaves.
At the farmer’s market down the street,
neighbors browse bins of squashes,
pumpkins, apples, pecans,
for this is the season of gathering.
It’s our instinct—
like that of wrens and squirrels,
chipmunks and bears—
to gather when the sun circles south,
days shorten,
and frosts begin.
It’s our nature to huddle with family and friends,
to bring what we’ve gathered
into our spaces of welcome and warmth,
of light and love.
May we give ourselves to
gathering the gifts of this season—
the rest found in darkness,
the warmth found in firelight,
the sparkle of joy in the eyes of a child.
Delight at the first bite of dinner.
Bask in the glow of grace and giving.
Gather smiles and laughter.
For this is the season of
gathering goodness.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

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I Want You to Know

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

I want you to know things can change.
I want to show you joy and peace.
I want to show you the goodness of life,
how an easy smile feels,
how letting go makes way
for the freedom of dancing,
how rain is refreshment
and thunder is a wonder.
I want to knock your fear on the head
and say back off!
I want you to taste apples and grapes
and all tangs of cheeses,
to smell jasmine
and pungent green onions
and fully inhale both.
I want to share with you
the peace of a pause,
the huge-hearted hug of hope,
the delight of simply being.
I want you to know things can change.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

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