Month: May 2026

A Moment of Footprints

Posted by

I saw you from the back porch
where I sat in my rocking chair,
you on the beach beside the lake
taking your time,
lining up toys.
The line was long
and you were strong
for such a little boy,
barefoot and tan,
footprints dimpling the sand,
placing a dump truck here, just so,
setting a sandy horseshoe beside it,
turning shovel and pail upside down.
Who knows where this line will go?
I suspect even you don’t know,
running here and there,
gracing the beach with each toy,
each rock,
each block of wood
tossed aside by the teenager who cut the lawn.
The wood is of no use to him,
but to you it’s a treasure.
I saw it all from where I sat
in the rocking chair on the back porch
years ago.
That moment made footprints
in the sand of my memory.
It is of no use to you,
but to me, it’s a treasure.
-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.

Daydrift

Posted by

Morning came like a gentle hug today,
sunrise shadowed by low clouds,
rain sprinkling window screens,
spattering the panes,
showering softly,
soothing my unsettled soul.
Morning came like a gentle hush,
a nudge to linger in the lull
between sleeping and waking,
to rest in the dimness of dawn,
to let this day drift in.
It’s been a while since we’ve had
this kind of rain,
a straight-down, soak-the-roots rain.
So I take my time,
drift into wakefulness,
drift into the kitchen for coffee,
drift into my easy chair,
sip from my steaming cup,
and watch a robin on the porch rail
letting the rain roll off his back.
Two squirrels sit atop the swingset,
their tails curved over their backs
like umbrellas.
A cardinal with water-darkened feathers
breakfasts from the feeder.
A chipmunk darts in and out
among a maze of flowerpots.
Black-eyed Susans turn fresh faces to the sky,
petals and leaves outstretched
as if saying, “Welcome, friend rain.
So good to see you.”
The morning wraps its comfort
around my cares
and cradles my concerns
so I can carry them quietly, calmly.
Welcome, friend rain.
So good to see 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 © Karyn Henley 2026. All rights reserved.

The Sway of a Shadow

Posted by

I stepped into the shadow
of a tall coneflower today,
accidentally cutting into the dance
of light and dark,
sun and shade.
A me-shadow,
gray and blobbish,
blotted out the elegant outline
of stem and petal and leaf.
I quickly stepped aside.
The shadow swayed
a nod of thanks,
for she had only a few hours
to stretch herself
across the cedar-stained deck.
Already she was shrinking
as the sun climbed the sky.
She will wane to a nub at noon,
then lengthen
as the day drifts on,
until the sun sinks
and she melts into night.
It’s so human not to notice
when we overshadow something
or someone.
The coneflower reminds me
to step out of the way,
for the time is short,
and we are all invited
to cast our own shadow,
to create our own dance,
to show our own shape,
to recognize the ever-changing beauty
in each of us.
-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.

Somewhere Above

Posted by

Somewhere above the twilight clouds
there are stars.
Always stars.
Timeless stars.
When a spring evening like this,
cool and rainy,
paints overcast skies deep violet
and turns trees into ruffled silhouettes,
when the wine-red triangles
of burgundy shamrocks
take a hint from the fading light
and fold themselves like tiny umbrellas,
when the cat snuggles into my lap
for fur-soft cuddles,
then time itself seems to pause
for one last look
at the wondering, wandering world
at the close of day.
For one moment,
two,
three,
time holds its breath,
listens,
lingers.
And then,
soft as a sigh,
it drifts into night.
And somewhere above the clouds
there are stars.
-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.

Pause and Perch

Posted by

Now that it’s full-on Spring,
it’s easy to see
what survived Winter’s ice storm
and what did not.
The old elms made it.
The heroic hackberries
and delicate dogwood did not.
Even the sturdy magnolia lost branches
and had to be trimmed back,
and one pine tree is now
only a tall, skinny snag.
Its floppy limbs,
unable to cradle the weight of ice,
snapped off, leaving a bare trunk
with a jagged top jutting toward the sky.
But it makes a perfect perch,
a landing place,
a scenic overlook,
a treetop rest stop
for a feathered flight,
a place to settle and soak up the sun.
The topmost snag in the magnolia
has been claimed by a mockingbird
as a stage for his heart-full songs
chirped at full volume.
I think he is telling me
to pause and perch on the snags,
those places broken by the weight of life
too heavy to hold.
Pause and perch, he says,
what is gone is gone,
but look at all that remains
green and growing.
Pause and perch on the snags
and sing at full volume
your heart-full songs of hope.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week – the snag:


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.