Month: August 2024

Ah, the Dahlia

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In the warming days of spring,

I planted two spidery tubers,

dahlias-to-be.

They soon sent up shoots,

greening, growing,

straight stems,

branching arms,

arrowed, light-veined leaves.

I watched for blooms to form,

for I had forgotten what color

they would be,

and I love the surprise of dahlias.

One bloomed in midsummer,

petals the color of burgundy wine.

The other grew taller,

stretched her leaves,

but gave no sign of blooms.

I made excuses for her.

(I am an expert at excuses,

being a late bloomer myself.)

Maybe it’s the heat, I said.

It’s been awfully hot this summer.

Maybe it’s because she came from

the supermarket, not the nursery.

Maybe I gave her too much water.

Or not enough.

I never know.

The fire-red salvia came and went,

the peppery basil is going to seed,

even the fragrant mint has bloomed.

I began to think this dahlia

would be content to wear green

all her life.

(Late bloomer that I am,

I’ve not outgrown impatience.)

Then, this week,

two blooms uncurled,

unfurled,

creamy peach,

warm blushing joy.

I had forgotten what her name was,

if the package even said.

Some dahlias are named Beauty

or Charlotte

or White Moonlight.

I call this one

Patience,

for that is the wisdom she carries:

Plant beauty, kindness, grace,

she says,

then be at peace,

be

patient.

-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

 

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the Week:

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Text and photos © 2024 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.

The Invitation and Promise of Earth

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When cool dawn drifts through

open windows,

when the rising sun

tips green and golding leaves and

trickles down tree trunks

in trailing drips of light,

when honking geese

cross the fresh sky,

when asters open

and the basil releases

tiny pepper-black seeds,

when the cat no longer sprawls

but curls into a cozy pose,

I know Autumn is on the way.

I also know Summer’s heat

is not done with us,

but these are hints of what’s to come,

promises of cooler days ahead.

Already, the earth is offering up

her generous, ripe gifts.

Soon enough she will invite us

to settle with her

into long, fallow days

of peaceful rest,

patient renewal,

potent re-freshening.

She will invite us

to join the slow, deep

in-breath and out-breath season

of all creation

calming,

becoming serene,

being revived.

-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

 

Nature and shadow of the week:

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

Text and photos © 2024 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.

Bowing Pines, Drifting Clouds, and the Scent of Rain

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“Deep Peace,” a traditional Gaelic prayer, inspired my post today. You can hear a lovely musical version by Libera at this link. Below you’ll find my own words to this brief, traditional blessing. It’s my prayer for you.

Deep peace

of the bowing pines to you.

Deep peace

of the drifting clouds to you.

Deep peace

of the scent of rain to you.

Deep peace.

Deep peace.

____

Deep peace

of a quiet dawn to you.

Deep peace

of a blooming garden to you.

Deep peace

of the gliding geese to you.

Deep peace.

Deep peace.

____

Deep peace

of the dozing dog to you.

Deep peace

of the purring cat to you.

Deep peace

of a gentle hug to you.

Deep peace.

Deep peace.

____

Deep peace

of the evening star to you.

Deep peace

of a cool night breeze to you.

Deep peace

of a silken pillow to you.

Deep peace.

Deep peace.

____

Deep,

deep

peace

to you.

-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.

Text and photos © 2024 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.

Having the Maybes

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I’m having the maybes today.

The longer I live,

the more maybes I have.

Maybe I will breathe easier.

Maybe my shoulders will

relax—

or my arms

or my hands,

maybe all three.

Maybe peace will come.

Maybe I’ll

be still

long enough to feel it,

know it,

catch it,

carry it within me.

Maybe I’ll get an insight—

or not.

Maybe I’ll never be

so arrogantly sure of myself

ever again.

Maybe my heart will

re-tune itself to hum

a richer, fuller

melody.

Maybe I’ll hear Life laughing

in delight

at me and my

maybes.

Is this wishful thinking?

Is it hope?

No matter.

Maybe my maybes will

come true.

-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.

Text and photos © 2024 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.

What the Chipmunk Told Me

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“Hello, chipmunk,” I said.

The chipmunk blinked,

her cheeks full.

Then she nodded.

“Mmmph.”

And scampered away.

I sat back,

watched her go.

I think she lives

near the neighbor’s drainpipe,

where water whooshes down

from the gutters

in a torrent

when it rains.

I wondered about her then—

is she ever in danger of

being flooded out?

While I was wondering this,

she appeared again,

cocked her head and said,

“I thought you’d never notice.”

“Notice?” I asked.

“I notice you every day

pouching leftover birdseed.”

“I thought you would never

notice enough

to address me.”

She smiled—

I swear she smiled—

“And now that you have,”

she cleared her throat,

“I will tell you

what I think.”

“What?

I leaned closer.

“I think you should worry less

and notice

more.”

 

-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.

Text and photos © 2024 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.