Where I Grew Up

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

The photograph is square

with scalloped edges,

a black and white picture of

a preschool girl with chubby cheeks

and curly blonde hair—

me hugging a sapling,

probably a mesquite,

for this is West Texas.

This is where I grew up.

_____

Through the window of the jet

I look down on L.A.,

buildings shoulder to shoulder,

crowding the path to the Pacific.

After years away, I’m returning,

feeling again the spark of excitement,

the expansive optimism

where all seems possible.

Here I was a newlywed.

Here I became a mother.

Here I became we instead of me.

This is where I grew up.

_____

At my desk in Nashville,

an email from writer friends

summons a scene:

a snowbound Vermont campus,

a steel-cold January wind,

and warm MFA graduates,

honoring our different ages,

our disparate backgrounds,

our varied beliefs.

Here the we in me opened, expanded.

This is where I grew up.

_____

In the studio,

I pound a fist of paint

onto wall-sized paper,

learn that art has no right, no wrong,

discover the marks of my hands,

the art of my heart,

the kindness and freedom of

non-judgment.

Here I find myself again,

become me instead of we.

This is where I grew up.

_____

In West Texas,

in a back yard of full-grown ash trees,

I climb the redwood fence,

pose for a photo beside my sisters,

the stone house behind us empty,

soon to be sold now that

Dad has died.

Here is where life breaks all bounds,

breaks all hearts.

This is where I grew up.

_____

I suppose that on my own deathbed,

if I’m lucky enough to know my mind,

a bit of a smile will come—

to my lips maybe,

to my heart surely—

and I will think, yes.

Here.

Now.

This.

This

is where I grow up.

-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.

Not the Off-Hand “Thanks”

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

“Nature calms me,” said my grandson

as he stepped into his backyard,

left the stress of the school day,

entered the grace of afternoon.

I wish I had been that wise

when I was seven.

But nature is a patient teacher and

waited years for me to

pause at the call of a cardinal,

linger over the unfolding coneflower,

inhale the scent of honeysuckle,

finger the curling bark of the crape myrtle,

taste the wild strawberry,

settle my soul.

Nature waited years for me to be

deeply grateful,

and for me,

that’s where true peace begins.

I can’t imagine peace without gratitude—

not the off-hand, easily tossed “thanks”

but the gratitude that has no words,

the awe of a heart

full of the richness of being.

There is, of course, a dark side,

the underside of living,

but that’s all the more reason

to follow the wisdom of a seven-year-old

and at least once in a while

step into the grace

of Nature.

-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 Perplexed Rose

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

I suspect she carried more,

cared more

than I ever knew,

for I never really knew

her.

Irises were her favorites,

but Mother was more like

a rose,

opening slowly,

cautiously,

unsure,

perplexed by layers of petals,

trying to settle them

just

exactly

right

but ending up windblown,

sun-faded,

pollen dusted,

stemmed with thorns,

holding deep in her center

the longing to

everything

right

to be the chosen rose.

I think I understand better now,

for I carry more

and care more

than my children will ever know.

Irises are one of my favorites,

but maybe I am a

slowly

unfolding

rose.

-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

And Happy Mother’s Day!

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.

Full of the Secret

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

Plump and round, brightly white,

the full moon smiled down

through my window.

I smiled back,

for I am also full—

full of peace veiled in soft moonglow,

full, too, of the secret we share,

the moon and I.

Maybe you share the secret too,

the secret of flipping the view.

Imagine the wonder of witnessing,

through a space-traveler’s eyes,

the turn-about’s-fair-play way

of gazing not at the moon

but at Earth,

of seeing not moonglow

but earthshine.

That is the secret:

the earth glows

just as the moon does.

Moonbeams drift down to Earth,

earthbeams drift up to the moon.

Full moon smiles down,

full Earth smiles up.

And the best part of the secret?

Maybe you didn’t know that you glow,

but you do, Earthling,

you do.

-kh-

If you want to read more about earthshine, here’s a link.

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.

Painted with Joy

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

Last night’s drenching rain has left

the morning air cooler,

peacefully breezy,

the sky flecked with drifts of cloud,

the earth dripping color—

brilliant yellows,

rich greens,

deep reds,

velvety blues—

a fresh day of spacious,

gracious spring

painted with the joy of re-creation.

A gray cat tiptoes

through regal irises,

around dogwood dressed in wedding white,

between coral azaleas

in a raindrop-sparkled garden.

The world is full of wonder

at its newborn self.

-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.

No Hurry, No Worry

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

The elms are late-bloomers.

Maples, redbuds, tulip poplars,

even grandfather hackberry

show off their spring green leaves.

But the elms,

one in each corner of my back yard,

are still asleep.

My young neighbor says,

“I think they are dead.”

I squint and study the elms,

look them up and down

as if he might be right,

but I know he’s not.

Silhouetted against the morning sky,

their upreaching branches bear bumps of

leaves-to-be

and the faint sheen of

newborn green.

My elms bide their time.

No hurry.

No worry.

I imagine that’s their mantra,

their peaceful way of entering spring,

stretching and yawning,

catching a few more drowsy minutes.

These elms have seen seasons come and go

for at least as long as I have,

and they know the deep joy of

lingering

a moment

longer.

They know the deep peace of

unhurried progress,

the contentment of

being a

late bloomer.

– 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.

Magical Moon

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

The moon is magical,

always shifting,

always gifting a glow

not of her making.

She cools the sun’s burning blaze,

lets it sift

and drift peacefully

into our night.

But sometimes—

sweet celestial surprise—

she sails into our day.

Look! A child points.

Adults nod. Yes,

an afternoon moon, and—

did you know?—

at the peak of her power, she can

dim that bold sun,

block its light,

darken the day,

cool the earth,

hush birdsong,

shape rare shadows,

and gather the world’s watchers

who gasp and whisper

as the trickster makes the sun

disappear,

reminding us all that in the heavens,

she too can take center stage.

But a few hours are enough;

she is soon satisfied

and settles into her old habits,

tide-bringer,

love-teaser,

shape-changer

emptying herself,

filling up again, only to

pour herself out once more.

She is generous,

this elegant,

smiling,

powerful,

magical

moon.

– 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.

So Many Reasons

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

The sky is crying today,

softly, slowly dripping tears down my windows.

And why wouldn’t it?

The world is rumbling, tumbling,

churning, turning,

so much hurt,

so much hate,

so many reasons to cry.

But past the teardrops on my window screen,

I can see two squirrels

skittering up the trunk of a pine tree,

its branches stretching high

brushing away the tears in the crying sky.

The two squirrels have made a runway

through the deep green maze of pines.

They scamper in stops and starts up and down.

On the way up, they carry bundles of fresh

spring leaves they’ve nibbled off the bushes below.

They’re building a nest near the tip-top

in a thicket of pine needles.

It’s almost invisible, a dark bulk

nestled between branches,

swaying in the breeze.

I assume squirrels do this every spring—

build their penthouse nests—

but this is the first time I’ve seen them

carrying greenery,

refurbishing their nursery.

I suppose they know what they’re doing,

trusting swaying pines

not to toss them out but to rock them,

not to crash but cradle them.

So I’m trusting those little squirrels

and the pine trees too.

I’m trusting the return of spring,

the bloom of dogwood,

the robin hopping along the porch rail.

Trees sway,

skies cry,

the world churns,

but we will gather fresh bundles of hope,

carry them along the mazes of our world,

jump the chasms,

bridge the gaps,

and build at the very top,

stretching high into the crying sky

to brush away the tears.

– 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.

If I Take the Hint

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

As I stepped outside,

a swirl of white petals—cherry blossoms—

floated down like snowflakes,

settled silently at my feet.

My yard has no cherry trees,

but a neighbor’s yard does,

and the wind has lifted them,

drifted them,

gifted them to me,

celebrating the world reborn.

So many of Spring’s gifts are small—

a yard carpeted in violets,

forsythia gone wild with yellow blooms,

shadows of breeze-blown trees

rippling like creek water in dawn’s lemony light.

But truly, I see the world reborn

any time I pause,

from reliving

or preliving

and begin, instead, just living,

noticing the moment—

for a moment—

which is all I can manage

most of the time.

But Nature has a way of nudging me into

the Now—

white petals flutter past,

shadows ripple in lemon light,

long-limbed forsythia waves in the wind.

If I take the hint,

I am also reborn,

and each step I take

can be

the first.

– 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

Where I Grew Up

Not the Off-Hand “Thanks”

A Perplexed Rose

Full of the Secret

Painted with Joy

No Hurry, No Worry

Magical Moon

So Many Reasons

If I Take the Hint