Month: February 2026

Windows and Wings

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Surfacing from the depths of dream
in the middle of the night,
I find my mind replaying
a difficult day,
rewinding, reminding.
All I want to do is turn over,
return to sleep.
Instead, I walk the edge of wakefulness
wishing to will myself into slumber,
but my mind hums,
will not will itself
to leave life alone for a while.
At last, I ease open my eyes.
There on my night-gray ceiling
are two splashes of light
from my neighbor’s yard,
filtered through my window
and stretching above me,
skewed and angled,
softly crossing
like stylized wings
painted protectively overhead.
Windows have become wings,
and that feels just right,
for windows are wings for me.
By day, by night,
windows set my soul to flight,
open me to the dancing expanse
of wonder and hope
that lies beyond
and beyond the beyond.
My eyes drift closed.
Grateful for windows,
grateful for wings,
I settle once more
into sleep.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:


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Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2026. All rights reserved.

I Looked for the Moon

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I looked for the moon tonight,
wanting to find this faithful friend
who’s currently a waxing crescent.
I wanted to admire her curve,
contemplate the stars beyond,
feel the wonder of time
stretched
into eternity.
I wanted to sit with her serenity awhile.
But the night sky is crowded with clouds
reflecting city-shine,
making the darkness nightlight-soft,
vanishing the vastness of deep space
and disappearing the moon.
Still, the moon is in her place
up in the cold silence
and still, I am in my place
down in the warm hope of home.
The moon is so ancient
she will not remember me.
But I remember her.
I close my eyes, see all her moods,
her shifts and shapes
from plump and playful
to a bright bowl pouring out stars
to a slim curving thread of possibility.
I see all her colors,
her brilliant bride-white joy,
her reddened omen eye,
her haloed softness,
her rising orange-gold bravado.
Sometimes she’s a sky-sailing galleon,
sometimes a pale canoe
caught in the branches of a tree.
I looked for the moon tonight
and found her in my heart.
-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 2026. All rights reserved.

Somebody’s Home

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Winter twilight crisp and clear,
red rush-hour tail lights
ease north, disappear over a hill.
Bright white headlights
stream slowly south in the oncoming lane.
Above the river of traffic,
bare tree branches lace across
a quickly darkening evening sky.
Left and right, houses come to life
as windows wink on
in squares and rectangles of gold.
The car in front of me slows,
signals,
turns left into a driveway,
and something inside me warms.
I feel somehow lighter.
Somebody’s home, I think.
Somebody’s home.
I’m not far from my own house,
my own driveway,
just three more left turns
and then that deep hum of a breath,
the hug of home-ness.
I know that “home” is not warm joy
for everyone,
nor has it always been for me,
but it is now,
and for that, I am grateful.
A few days ago,
a photo popped up on my phone,
a random memory:
me and my youngest sister
standing side by side
under a tent in West Texas
in front of our dad’s flower-covered coffin.
After making his way through the maze
of a full and wondrous life
with all its curves and corners,
switchbacks and straight stretches,
uphill slogs and downhill slides,
Daddy had slowed, turned left in front of me,
and made his way home.
Someday when I cross through the twilight,
the divine veiled divide,
into the mystery of beyond,
I hope that those who see my handful of ashes
will feel somehow lighter.
I hope their heart will warm.
I hope they will smile and think,
somebody’s home.
-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 2026. All rights reserved.

Tangled in a Tree

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There’s a balloon
caught high in a neighbor’s tree.
I’ve been keeping an eye on it for weeks.
At first it looked like a grand butterfly
flapping oversized wings
as the wind tried to blow it down.
It never dropped but day by day
shrank until it dangled,
entangled and trapped in twiggy tentacles.
Each breath of the breeze
makes it wave like a flag,
flapping and flashing gold-red in the sun.
My mind wants to make something natural of it—
perhaps it’s a precariously perched hawk
or a squirrel out on a limb,
maybe a clump of mistletoe
or an angel trumpet bloom,
maybe one last giant red autumn leaf
clinging to this leafless winter tree.
But this metallic dangling thing is not natural,
probably poses a danger
to birds,
to squirrels,
to buds that will come in the spring.
I once untangled a robin caught in a string
that was, in turn, snagged in a bush.
I once freed a sparrow
whose foot was trapped
in the bars of a feeder.
I remember how helpless they were,
weighing almost nothing
but fighting with every ounce to get free.
So I hope that before a bird is tangled
in this saggy baggy balloon,
the ribbon will wear thin,
the mylar will tear,
and the danger will fall from the tree
to be tossed into someone’s trash can.
But for now, there’s a deflated balloon
dangling high in a neighbor’s tree.
I’ll enjoy the magic of its changing colors
as the sun comes and goes,
the surprise of its shifting shapes
as the wind sighs and blows.
I’ll keep an eye on it.
-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 2026. All rights reserved.