Held Between

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

My sunroom floor turned into

a game board dotted with

grandson-made Lego creations

that moved in ways only he understood

in his game-wise mind,

ways I was trying to comprehend

when I looked out the window and saw

a chipmunk pouching sunflower seeds,

remnants of a refilled birdfeeder.

“Look!” I pointed.

We both paused and watched,

transfixed by this small creature

busy with her daily task.

All the game tension,

the do-I-move-now and how,

ebbed away, leaving

a sense of peace.

We were silent,

entertained—

literally held between—

in a time out,

and once again, I realized:

moments of all-is-well appear

like steady stepping stones

across a rushing brook,

like restful benches

along a hiking trail.

So much peace comes from

stepping across the stones,

resting on the bench,

stopping to watch a chipmunk.

So much peace comes from the

pauses.

-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

If you want me to send these thoughts to your email each Sunday, simply sign up on the right.

A Pure Stream of Blue

A Pure Stream of Blue

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

There’s a sweet sadness,

a pure stream of blue

rippling with love and longing,

a catch in the heart,

a hitch in the breath,

hands open and empty

because of

love,

outstretched hands

palms up,

cradling sweet longing,

holding sweet space.

This is a knowing sadness,

a generous and gracious sadness,

a soft sadness,

full of memories of souls

who have flown,

a sadness relinquishing

what was never meant

to be held forever

but like a pillow

still holds the dips and curves

of one who has risen,

empty yet not empty,

traces of the one who is loved,

the sweet sadness

rippling in a pure stream of blue

that will always be.

-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

If you want me to send these thoughts to your email each Sunday, simply sign up on the right.

A Waterfall of Music

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

I’ve heard it said that

often, when we think we’re

hungry,

we’re really just

thirsty.

On a walk this week,

I thought I was hungry for

talk radio,

hoping to find hope

somewhere in news and analysis.

But then,

sandwiched between

one segment and

the next,

came an interlude of music,

gentle piano,

a drifting melody.

I paused,

closed my eyes,

let liquid notes pour over me,

a waterfall,

a silver stream of serenity,

freshening, cooling,

full of hope.

As I opened my eyes,

I realized

I had not been hungry after all

but thirsty,

thirsty for the

soul full,

drenching,

quenching

grace

music.

-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

If you want me to send these thoughts to your email each Sunday, simply sign up on the right.

A Gardener’s Optical Illusion

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

A trick of morning light,

a slant of glass in a windowpane,

and I see a bevy of black-eyed Susans

where there are none.

The real golden, black-eyed blooms

bob on long stems to the south of my back door.

Their reflection sprawls across

the window-framed view to the west,

which happens to be the neighbor’s garage

and has never sprouted flowers.

Yet there it is

from my vantage point indoors,

an optical illusion,

a mirage,

a golden, pop-up garden,

a gift of sun and glass.

I wonder if a good memory is like that,

a reality, once tangible,

reflecting now from a window of the soul

so that, for a moment,

the mind’s eye sees a golden scene,

hears it,

smells it,

tastes it,

feels it

and knows it as a gift,

knows that this reflection is

no trick,

no mirage,

but is imprinted forever

on the pane of the heart.

-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week—my golden garden and its reflection:

Shadow of the week:

If you want me to send these thoughts to your email each Sunday, simply sign up on the right.

For a Day Born New

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

Good morning, bird,

perched

somewhere outside my open window.

The breeze is carrying your tune

to my drowsy, waking ears.

How long have you been singing

your wake-up song?

Are you a bluebird?

A wren?

A cardinal?

I am not attuned to the differences—

not yet.

No matter.

You are a consummate singer

of carefree song,

melody for a day born new.

The gift of your music

invites me to rise

and breathe deeply of dawn.

Perhaps I, too, will sing.

-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

If you want me to send these thoughts to your email each Sunday, simply sign up on the right.

Carry the Calm

Karyn Henley

Month: June 2024

Held Between

A Pure Stream of Blue

A Waterfall of Music

A Gardener’s Optical Illusion

For a Day Born New