It Came as a Question

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

It came as a question,

a challenge really—

how would you describe yourself?

A warning—

don’t ask this of an old woman

unless you want to sit for a while,

drift for a while,

sift through life for a while.

Yet there it was,

hanging in the air,

winking from the page—

how would you describe yourself?

I am like a well-worn shirt,

used to being useful,

washed and worn

again and again,

now soft and comfy and saggy baggy.

I am like a faded flower

that was once bright and lightly scented,

and now perhaps more interesting,

a browning, curling shape.

I am like a warm loaf of freshly baked

homemade bread,

like a pillow fluffed with feathers

where the cat sleeps,

like cream that softens the coffee,

like the dance that has no particular steps,

like the wren singing,

perching, pecking for seeds,

like a blanket around bent shoulders,

like my father’s eyes,

like my mother’s lips,

like the song that searches for its next line.

How would I describe myself?

I’m the candle in the window at night,

a silent sign to those who’ve left home

that the light is still on

and the door is always open

for 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.

Life’s Secret Answer

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

When I was younger,

I thought I had to find

all the answers.

I thought there were

answers to find.

Now that I’m older,

I’m holding the questions

and turning them over,

watching them sparkle and twinkle

and laugh,

for holding the questions

is life’s secret answer.

Every day, all is new

and uncertain

and certainly mystery.

What matters is not

the answers

but the questions,

how I hold them

and lightly unfold them,

how I ask them

and listen for a hum,

a nod

a yes, this is a good question,

a mystery,

an unmapped path,

a happy chance,

a happy choice

to carry the questions,

to ponder and muse

with “perhaps” and “maybe”

and “we’ll get there.”

Get where?

And when?

Who knows?

Do I care?

Not really. It’s more

exciting and joyful

to live in the unknown,

muse on the mystery,

cradle the questions,

and laugh out loud

at the memory

of thinking I had to

know.

No.

There’s no knowing

and no joy in stopping the search,

of being so certain.

The quest and the question—

now there’s the dance,

the chance,

the romance.

There’s the flying,

the flow,

the soft, easy drift of

not having to know.

It’s the smile of the soul,

the serene and the settled,

the secret of being satisfied with

open windows and doors,

wind blowing thoughts around,

presenting possibilities

holding hopes lightly

and wishes wisely

and reveling in

wonder.

– 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 Whisper of Spring

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

March, so the saying goes,

comes in like a lion,

out like a lamb.

But it was February that left

roaring,

all in a rush of wind and rain

leaving deck chairs toppled,

branches snapped,

daffodils bowed,

twigs scattered across the lawn.

February was in a hurry

to leave,

and lamb-like,

March has tiptoed in

with silver-gray clouds,

a shy sun

and a spritz of bright yellow forsythia.

Winter has thinned,

and a full-bodied Spring is

peeping in,

seeping in,

reaching out

to hug the world with warmth.

Winter will have a few last words,

but Spring is whispering her arrival,

and I’m listening,

watching,

catching her scent,

feeling her breezy touch.

Hello, March.

– 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.

Absolutely Nothing

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

So . . . I did nothing,

absolutely nothing

except sit in an easy chair where

I could see out the window.

I did nothing but watch

the sun cross the hardwood floor,

making golden puddles and

shifting the shadows

until lines angled

in a grid of windowpane parallelograms

with long diagonals pointing toward me—

or perhaps the reverse—

pointing away from me.

I did absolutely nothing

but watch dust motes drift in a flock

through a broad sunbeam

and think of how we breathe them in and out

all the time.

No doubt they are even now floating

on my out-breath.

Still, I did absolutely nothing

but listen to the Golden bark next door

until she was satisfied that whatever

she was barking at—or for—was

settled.

I did nothing but admire

how the sun glinted through the tips

of my cat’s fur,

outlining her back with white light.

Yes, I did absolutely nothing,

for, after all, this is the season of Lent,

and I have decided to fast

from frantic busy-ness.

Plus, my New Year’s resolution was

to reclaim one day a week

as a day of rest.

So all afternoon, I sat

in my easy chair

in the sun

with a view out the window.

I did absolutely nothing

and discovered that nothing

is really

Something.

– 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.

Petal by Fascinating Petal

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

Wisdom does not automatically

come with old age.

The young closed mind

can easily become

the old closed mind.

But I am blessed to have friends who,

as they’ve aged,

have opened

like roses unfolding

petal by fascinating petal,

revealing the beauty of wisdom

born of years of

patience,

pain,

experience.

The opening of the petaled heart

is a kind of letting go—

letting go of demands,

of expectations,

of self-importance,

of the arrogance of certainty—

and settling into the easy breath

of not knowing,

of receiving what is and

releasing the rosy scent of love,

and joy,

and peace

into the world.

Wisdom does not automatically come

with old age,

but old age is often where

wisdom dwells.

– kh –

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature from the last snow:

Shadow of the week:

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The In-Between Times

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

I woke to birdsong this morning,

a good-morning melody

welcoming the silver-gray light

weaving through the clouds and soft rain

of these in-between days

that bridge winter and spring

and seem so random—

today frosty, possible snow,

tomorrow warm, a hug of sunshine.

New blooms have appeared

on the neighbor’s hellebore,

Lenten roses right on time.

Purple crocuses have smiled open

under the magnolia,

a bit of yellow peeks from a drift of daffodils

under the hackberry,

all cheering me

in these between times.

And truly, we are always in between—

between starting and finishing,

between losing and finding,

between our last step and our next step.

Isn’t it the same with people as with nature?

There are those who bloom

in the in-between times,

those who are our crocuses,

our daffodils,

our Lenten roses,

whose mere presence is a sign of hope,

good cheer,

encouragement

in between the loss of what was

and the uncertainty of what will be,

those who ground us in the present moment

of the in-between.

Thank God for our crocuses,

our daffodils,

our Lenten roses.

Thank God for our in-between friends.

–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.

Open-Eyed and Full-Hearted

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

Sometimes all you can do is

hope

that this year will be better.

I’ve long passed the stage of

buying into Jiminy Cricket’s

“If you wish upon a star…”

I’m way past believing

pie-in-the-sky.

I’m beyond thinking that

if I just do everything right,

everything will be all right.

I’m way past all that.

But I’m not past hope.

I’m not past looking the world

full in the face,

eyes open wide,

and knowing life can be better,

even great,

because

I know people who care.

I know love and peace and joy.

I know kindness and goodness

and grace and generosity.

I’m way past closed eyes

and grasping at straws,

but I’m not past hope.

May we never be past

open-eyed

full-hearted

hope.

–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 Rather Large Keepsake

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

The little girl is made of iron.

Stiff-backed and still she stands

holding up a garden hose to

water whatever she can—

black-eyed Susans in the fall,

coreopsis in the summer,

larkspur and salvia in springtime,

seed pods and freeze-dried leaves in winter.

Unmoving, resolved, in wind and rain,

in snow and hail and sunshine,

she keeps her vigil.

My father had her made for my mother.

They raised four daughters, and

while none of us ever stood this still,

not even playing hide and seek,

maybe this girl was a reminder

of wiggly giggly girls grown

and going their own way.

Now that both my father and mother are gone,

this little iron girl belongs to me,

a rather large keepsake,

a reminder of girls growing up

and now growing old.

But even more,

she reminds me that

we have weathered the world’s wildness before,

and can again,

in every season,

persistently watering,

insistently cultivating

peace—

not without pain,

not without questions,

but also not without wonder,

not without heart.

She reminds me that

a stilled spirit,

a calm soul

is itself a keepsake

as we water

with kindness and hope

whatever we can.

–kh–

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week – the little iron girl in last week’s snow:

Shadow of the week – from yesterday’s drawing class:

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

Waking to Snow

Waking to Snow

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

Waking to snow,

deep quiet,

feathered flakes,

whispers of wind,

and no one going anywhere.

Time pauses,

takes a break.

Why was I rushing around

all these days past?

What was the hurry, the worry?

Plans have now shifted,

busy has been put on hold.

My old clock softly ticks,

keeping time.

Really, dear clock?

Keeping time?

You keep it only long enough to measure its

passing,

and before you can tick again, it’s

gone.

And yet, this morning,

time is asking to be kept,

held,

witnessed

in this white cocoon,

this quiet tiptoe of a morning

waking to snow.

–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.

The Thread Connecting Us

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

The silver SUV pulled out of the driveway

as my son and his young family headed

to the airport

after the holidays.

I don’t suppose they saw me

wave them out of sight.

I don’t suppose they knew my throat was thick,

my shoulders heavy,

my eyes blinking fast to block the tears.

I hadn’t meant to cry,

but my mind pulled up a years-ago memory

of a hot blue-sky Texas morning

when it was my young family

pulling away from Mom and Dad’s house,

and I looked back to see my dad

standing on the front porch

waving us out of sight.

At that moment, I instinctively knew

why—

why he watched,

why he waved,

why he waited

until he could no longer see us—

maybe longer, who knows?

He was holding the thread of connection

as long as he could,

Knowing it might be the last time he saw us.

It wasn’t—

not then.

He could not know,

nor could I,

that my sisters and I would be with him

for the last goodbye,

and that in my memory,

he is still on that front porch,

waving as the distance grows between us,

just as I wave to my children and grandchildren,

holding the thread of connection

as long as I can,

for they always leave

with a good part

of my heart.

–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

It Came as a Question

Life’s Secret Answer

A Whisper of Spring

Absolutely Nothing

Petal by Fascinating Petal

Open-Eyed and Full-Hearted

A Rather Large Keepsake

Waking to Snow

The Thread Connecting Us