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:

If you want me to send these thoughts to your email each Sunday, simply sign up on the right.

Held Between

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

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:

If you want me to send these thoughts to your email each Sunday, simply sign up on the right.

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:

If you want me to send these thoughts to your email each Sunday, simply sign up on the right.

A Gardener’s Optical Illusion

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

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:

If you want me to send these thoughts to your email each Sunday, simply sign up on the right.

For a Day Born New

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

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.

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.

Carry the Calm

Karyn Henley

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

Where I Grew Up

Not the Off-Hand “Thanks”

A Perplexed Rose