Some Faithful Thing

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

On a quiet afternoon
when other sounds hush
and even the birds seem to be napping,
I sit and listen to the calm tick
of the dining room clock,
and I realize that I need
some faithful thing
to assure me,
to gentle me,
to strengthen me,
something like this steady click
that goes on measuring time
whether I hear it or not.
It’s a faithful thing
like winter turning to spring,
like the sunrise in the eastern sky,
like the moon waxing and waning.
In life’s uncertainty,
the scramble of tasks,
the unknown and unknowable,
I need this pause,
this listening,
this sensing and settling.
I need to know
that the moon has been crossing the heavens
since long before I was born
and will be crossing the heavens still,
long after I’m gone.
And while the clock in the dining room
may go silent some day,
for now, it too
is a faithful thing
evenly measuring time,
and I need some faithful thing—
sun, moon, wind, rain, trees,
even this clock—
I need some faithful thing
to be my gladness,
my contentment.
In the midst of all that’s temporary,
I need some faithful thing
to remind me of
eternity.
-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.

Except for the Violets

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

“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:

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

Spring Storm Symphony

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

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:

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

Backyard Chorus Line

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

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:

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

Who Knew?

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

“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:

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: March 2025

Some Faithful Thing

Except for the Violets

Spring Storm Symphony

Backyard Chorus Line

Who Knew?