Month: December 2025

When Quiet is Loud

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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.

Nature of the week:


Shadow of the week:

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

I Wonder About Dogs

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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.

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 © Karyn Henley 2025. All rights reserved.

No Looking at the Calendar

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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-

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.

Twenty-seven Degrees

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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.

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 © Karyn Henley 2025. All rights reserved.