What the Chipmunk Told Me

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

“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:

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Until Peace Settles Deeply

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

A broken heart, I think,

sometimes shields itself

under the guise of anger,

resentment, and bluster.

It’s easier

and maybe feels safer

to harden

instead of soften,

to shield

instead of bare itself,

to try to control

instead of letting go.

That truly may be the wise path

until wounds turn to scars,

until we stop collecting thorns to

shore up that shield

and instead

gather for ourselves the healing herbs

of goodness and mercy

until peace settles so deeply in us

that we realize

that from now on,

thorns may prick,

but only scratch-deep.

They will no longer embed themselves

as splinters in our heart.

For we know who we are—

scarred but

whole and holy.

We are those who not only

gather goodness

but give it away freely,

even—maybe especially—

to those still collecting thorns,

still shielding their hearts.

Peace, love,

goodness and grace.

Gather and give.

-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

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The Salty Spray of Memory

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Sometimes

all the wrong choices I’ve made

come at me like a returning tide.

With the force of a wall of water,

they hit me full in the face,

wave after

wave

threatening to drown me in

regret.

It’s all I can do to keep my footing

on this rocky beach

and let it wash over me.

For it will wash over—

I’m familiar enough with this

edge of the ocean

to know that much.

The tide that comes in will

recede,

and I will find that I am still standing,

God only knows how,

but

drenched,

I stand in the sunlight of grace,

drip dry,

breathe the salty spray of memory

deeply in,

deeply out

until my breath comes without

hitching.

Peace returns

with the hope that

as long as I am still standing,

still breathing,

then with grace,

with peace,

with love,

I can

sometimes

turn the tide.

-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

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A Gift of Poppies

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A friend shared her garden with me

in a baggie of poppy seeds,

tiny black things

that could be mistaken

for a swarm of gnats.

I had my doubts that they would grow,

for I am a haphazard gardener.

But I do love the look of delicate,

showy, confident poppies,

so I planted the seeds.

Those tiny black dots sprouted and stretched

into tall, slender stalks

that birthed frilly-edged blooms of

rosy pink with inner brush-strokes of lavender

around a globe-shaped center,

a tiny pumpkin-like pod of yellow and green.

I wish poppies would bloom all summer,

but petals faded,

fluttered,

fell from their centers,

those small, round globes,

each now regally topped with a tiny crown.

Then something astonishing happened.

As the globes browned,

under their crowns,

tiny holes appeared

like observation windows for gnats—

or, as it happens,

escape hatches for seeds.

Stems dry, weaken,

bend in the wind.

Out fall the seeds and scatter on the ground.

My grandson said, “Pretty soon poppies

will cover your whole yard,

because you get more and more each season.”

And I nod,

for that is how gracious a garden is,

how generous.

One plant multiplies its beautiful, bountiful self

in tiny seed-promises,

packets of hope for the year to come.

And if I pluck the seed pods

before they spill,

I can shake seeds out of their windows

and into a baggie

to share with a friend

these tiny black things

that could be mistaken

for a swarm of gnats

but are really a gift of beauty

and bounty

and hope

and grace.

-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.

Why I Need My Garden

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

In the window

above my kitchen sink,

one golden bloom rises on a

toothpick-thin stem

in a tiny pottery vase.

A black-eyed Susan.

I lean closer,

admire her petals,

her dark brown center.

It’s like looking into the smile of God.

Outdoors, pink coneflowers sway

beside magenta coleus leaves

blanket-stitched along the edges

in bright yellow-green.

The smile of God.

Yellow gazania bloom bright,

happily resilient in the heat.

Red-purple impatiens overspread their pot,

preferring the shade.

The smile of God.

I also know the tears of God.

Anyone with eyes to see

and an open heart

feels the sadness,

knows the tears.

So many.

Too many.

That’s why I need my garden—

gazania and impatiens,

cornflower and coleus,

black-eyed Susans.

They remind me

that God does smile.

They give me hope

that we, too—

all shapes, colors, and

types of us—

can flower and flourish

in beauty and peace.

If only we will.

We, too, can be the smile of God.

-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

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Held Between

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My sunroom floor turned into

a game board dotted with

grandson-made Lego creations

that moved in ways only he understood

in his game-wise mind,

ways I was trying to comprehend

when I looked out the window and saw

a chipmunk pouching sunflower seeds,

remnants of a refilled birdfeeder.

“Look!” I pointed.

We both paused and watched,

transfixed by this small creature

busy with her daily task.

All the game tension,

the do-I-move-now and how,

ebbed away, leaving

a sense of peace.

We were silent,

entertained—

literally held between—

in a time out,

and once again, I realized:

moments of all-is-well appear

like steady stepping stones

across a rushing brook,

like restful benches

along a hiking trail.

So much peace comes from

stepping across the stones,

resting on the bench,

stopping to watch a chipmunk.

So much peace comes from the

pauses.

-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.

A Pure Stream of Blue

A Pure Stream of Blue

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

There’s a sweet sadness,

a pure stream of blue

rippling with love and longing,

a catch in the heart,

a hitch in the breath,

hands open and empty

because of

love,

outstretched hands

palms up,

cradling sweet longing,

holding sweet space.

This is a knowing sadness,

a generous and gracious sadness,

a soft sadness,

full of memories of souls

who have flown,

a sadness relinquishing

what was never meant

to be held forever

but like a pillow

still holds the dips and curves

of one who has risen,

empty yet not empty,

traces of the one who is loved,

the sweet sadness

rippling in a pure stream of blue

that will always be.

-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

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A Waterfall of Music

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

I’ve heard it said that

often, when we think we’re

hungry,

we’re really just

thirsty.

On a walk this week,

I thought I was hungry for

talk radio,

hoping to find hope

somewhere in news and analysis.

But then,

sandwiched between

one segment and

the next,

came an interlude of music,

gentle piano,

a drifting melody.

I paused,

closed my eyes,

let liquid notes pour over me,

a waterfall,

a silver stream of serenity,

freshening, cooling,

full of hope.

As I opened my eyes,

I realized

I had not been hungry after all

but thirsty,

thirsty for the

soul full,

drenching,

quenching

grace

music.

-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

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A Gardener’s Optical Illusion

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A trick of morning light,

a slant of glass in a windowpane,

and I see a bevy of black-eyed Susans

where there are none.

The real golden, black-eyed blooms

bob on long stems to the south of my back door.

Their reflection sprawls across

the window-framed view to the west,

which happens to be the neighbor’s garage

and has never sprouted flowers.

Yet there it is

from my vantage point indoors,

an optical illusion,

a mirage,

a golden, pop-up garden,

a gift of sun and glass.

I wonder if a good memory is like that,

a reality, once tangible,

reflecting now from a window of the soul

so that, for a moment,

the mind’s eye sees a golden scene,

hears it,

smells it,

tastes it,

feels it

and knows it as a gift,

knows that this reflection is

no trick,

no mirage,

but is imprinted forever

on the pane of the heart.

-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week—my golden garden and its reflection:

Shadow of the week:

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For a Day Born New

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Good morning, bird,

perched

somewhere outside my open window.

The breeze is carrying your tune

to my drowsy, waking ears.

How long have you been singing

your wake-up song?

Are you a bluebird?

A wren?

A cardinal?

I am not attuned to the differences—

not yet.

No matter.

You are a consummate singer

of carefree song,

melody for a day born new.

The gift of your music

invites me to rise

and breathe deeply of dawn.

Perhaps I, too, will sing.

-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.

Carry the Calm

Karyn Henley

Author: karynhenleyauthor

What the Chipmunk Told Me

Until Peace Settles Deeply

The Salty Spray of Memory

A Gift of Poppies

Why I Need My Garden

Held Between

A Pure Stream of Blue

A Waterfall of Music

A Gardener’s Optical Illusion

For a Day Born New