These are the Days

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These are the days
of searing sidewalks, sharp shadows,
and pop-up rainstorms
that leave the garden drooping,
dripping,
steaming.
These are the days of sweltering heat
tiptoeing timidly toward 100º,
days when I carry an insulated bag
filled with cold packs to cool off
as I wait for my grandson
in the mid-afternoon pick-up line at school.
These are the days when I wonder
how the birds cope,
why they don’t crumple to a crisp.
How do they sing so fresh and clear
in the heat of a breezeless afternoon?
These are the days when I remember
that the sun is a ball of fire
giving life to the earth
even though it’s on the edge of
boiling us for dinner.
These are also the days
when one leaf falls here,
another drifts down there,
autumn’s tiny ads for upcoming events.
One leaf on the crape myrtle turns orange,
standing out among the green,
seed pods ripen,
the Virginia creeper begins to blush.
But it’s not autumn yet,
not for a few weeks more.
With a hot, gusty sigh,
summer admits she’s dragging her feet,
dozy, droopy,
drained of energy
but not ready to relinquish her reign.
So I’ll keep the fans out
and the ice packs handy,
for these are the high, hot, heady days
of summer.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:


Shadow of the week:

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Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2025. All rights reserved.

There’s a Cat in My Lap

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Basil and marigolds
are starting to droop in their pots
and I really should water them,
but there’s a cat on my lap,
curled up and cozy,
so I watch twilight
paint the sky lavender
and darken to purple.
I need to change the air filter
in my refrigerator.
I have the replacement out
on the counter,
ready to go,
but there’s a cat in my lap,
eyes closed, breathing softly,
so I watch the lights come on
in the neighbors’ windows,
squares of warm gold,
friendly islands
in the deepening darkness.
I thought I might read
as I sit here rocking,
or answer some emails,
but my hands are folded under
a cat in my lap,
so I notice the white that perfectly outlines
her gray-brown ears.
I really need to wash the dishes
and take out the trash.
Feel free to tell me so,
but, you see,
there’s a cat in my lap,
and I am grateful,
for she is old,
she is faithful,
she is even now teaching me
to rest,
to wait,
to see all that would have gone unnoticed
if she had not settled down in my lap.
So the basil and marigolds can wait,
and the refrigerator filter, too.
I can read and answer emails later,
and the dishes aren’t going anywhere.
There’s a cat in my lap,
so I take the hint,
settle in,
close my eyes,
and breathe softly,
purrfectly content.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:


Shadow of the week:

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Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2025. All rights reserved.

Where Does This Key Go?

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There once was a key
that opened—or locked—
something important,
which made the key important too.
Now it sits among a number of keys so old
that no one remembers
what they open
or what they lock.
They all live rather jumbled
on a set of hooks in a pantry
or on the side wall of a hall
or collected in a drawer.
Each key was once important,
kept safe at hand and not to be lost,
to be shared only with someone trusted
who might need to unlock a suitcase
or access the fire safe
or open the house to look after the cat
or water the houseplants
or find a spot of safety in time of trouble.
But that was some time ago;
the keys are all jumbled now and—
what does this key go to?
We never throw away keys at my house,
for we have a feeling that as soon as we do,
we’ll need just exactly the key we tossed out.
But I know what will happen:
when we’re gone, our children,
maybe our grandchildren,
will open the pantry,
or look askance at the hooks on the side wall
or slide open a drawer
and find a scramble of keys.
They will pick them up one at a time.
What does this key go to? they will ask.
(I know, because I did exactly this
when my parents died.)
They will examine the shape and cut of the keys,
make their best guesses,
try them in locks around the house,
joke about hidden treasure,
(hoping maybe it’s not a joke).
In the end,
who will say, just throw them away?
Who will try every key in every lock in the house?
Who will take home a box of keys
in the event that someone someday will need
one of those exact keys
(also in case of hidden treasure)?
No matter either way—
keep the keys or toss them—
the act of puzzling, sorting,
remembering, crying, laughing
is the real key.
It’s the key to tomorrow
and the next day
and the next.
What does that key go to?
What does it unlock?
It
unlocks
everything.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:


Shadow of the week:

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Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2025. All rights reserved.

The Ebb and Flow of Evensong

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The sizzling heat of late summer days
seems to slow the flow of time
to a sultry slog.
The sun sets red and gold,
making way for a cooler time of day—
well, technically, a degree or two lower,
but can we truly call it cooler?
Twilight radiates with leftover heat,
and it’s too hot to open the windows.
Even a breeze through the screen
blows hot air.
My windows-open,
listen-to-nature heart
sighs at this season
sealed behind double panes of glass.
But I discover that if I’m quiet and still,
I can hear beyond closed windows.
Night bugs are beginning
their ebb and flow of evensong,
joined by squeaky yips from a chipmunk
somewhere among the trees,
which are now only
bulky, billowy silhouettes
with scalloped and fringed edges
against the rich blue-violet sky.
A bird adds to the chorus with chirps
that sound like a repeated question
asking the chipmunk, What? What?
I think I know the answer to what?
My cat is outdoors,
so the chipmunk’s yip is no doubt
a danger signal to its family and friends
as well as a warning to the cat.
As darkness deepens
and swallows the silhouettes,
my cat comes inside.
Chips and chirps slow,
taper to a stop,
leaving evensong to the insects.
This is a choir you can hear
even though windows are closed.
But I suspect that the heart
must be open.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:


Shadow of the week:

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Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2025. All rights reserved.

The Star for Me

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The world’s original entertainers
were surely the animals,
who are, by nature, first-class acrobats.
Hummingbirds hover,
butterflies dip and dance,
bees dive into deep-cupped trumpets of mandevilla,
roly-polies curl into perfect balls
and tumble across my grandson’s palm.
Even the box turtle he found last week
performed the turtle trick,
tucking itself into its shell.
But the star for me is the nuthatch,
that small bird who defies expectations,
the only bird in the wide backyard
who tips tail-up, head-down at the feeder
as he snatches sunflower seeds.
Watch how easily he perches facing the ground,
looking at lunch from a different angle,
coming at it upside-down.
Of course, he probably considers his stance
right-side-up.
Maybe he wonders
why the other birds are heads-up.
Or for that matter, why I watch him
with my feet on the ground.
When I was much younger,
I could stand on my head.
Even now, I could try to defy expectations myself,
but something tells me it would be wise
to leave the acrobatics
to the nuthatch.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:


Shadow of the week:

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Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2025. All rights reserved.

Flitting Among the Petunias

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The butterfly was so small—
with yellow wings—
a sulfur, I think it’s called.
It looked so happy flitting
among the petunias,
a bright spot dipping and swishing
into the pink and purple.
The cat watched,
fascinated.
But being a cat,
she was unable to simply watch
and swatted at it,
brought it down.
It fluttered,
tried to rise,
but was no match for the cat’s paw
and jaw,
for the cat lapped it up,
that fluttery, dusty, yellow-winged thing,
and swallowed it down
in one gulp.
After all,
the butterfly was so small.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:


Shadow of the week:

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Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2025. All rights reserved.

What If You Were the Wind?

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What if you were the wind
flowing ‘round the world
in a whirl of hot and cold,
bold enough to blow a house down,
then a day later,
shy of the sky,
whispery, shushing, hiding,
slyly slipping around trees.
What if you roared through mountain passes,
lapped at ocean waves,
played havoc with sand,
then ran out of gusts
to sigh and sway,
breezy,
sneezy,
tousling the grain in the field,
then nosing through a bubble wand
and tossing the bubble,
twirling and swirling it,
until it arced into a yard down the street.
What if you were that bubble
flickering soapy red and green and yellow
as you rolled on the breeze
and laughed at the neighbor who looked up
just as you floated by
dipping, bobbing, and pop!
What if you were the neighbor
who looked up just in time
to see the bubble pop,
and you stopped
to smile awhile.
Oh, but you are the wind,
the bubble,
the neighbor.
At least you were
for these past few minutes.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

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Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2025. All rights reserved.

The Key

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A tiny gold plastic key
small as a thumbnail
lay under a lightpost
in a bookstore parking lot.
My grandson found it,
examined it,
wondered what it might unlock.
A fairy’s door?
A toad’s treasure chest?
A bird’s garden gate?
Maybe.
One thing for sure:
it unlocked
his imagination.

-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:


Shadow of the week:

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Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2025. All rights reserved.

The Deep Knowing of a Stone

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It fits perfectly in my palm,
this rock I found,
heavy, flat, and smooth,
from a riverbed maybe.
It’s a warm, gray-brown,
the color of a rabbit
hiding in plain sight
and just as still.
It would be easy to stack
with other stones,
to create a calming cairn
or to line a labyrinth to linger in.
But maybe it’s meant to simply be held,
a touchstone.
Its curves and weight hold comfort,
solid, sure, simple,
worn and weathered,
dimpled and scratched.
I turn it over and over in my hand
as if I might find a message on it.
There are no engraved words,
but it does hold a message.
I cradle this stone in both hands,
for it holds a deep knowing:
Let the river rage on, it says.
Let it smooth out your rough edges.
Find purpose in stillness.
Be a calming, settled soul.
Outlast the flood.
-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 2025. All rights reserved.

Every Drenched Thing

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Every drenched thing bows to the rain—
branches weighed down with water,
marigolds sated and soggy,
lilies drooping and dripping.
This is not a cool, crisp perk-me-up rain
but a bucket dump so heavy
that it will leave a sultry, thick wet blanket
lazing on the lawn,
steaming the garden.
As the downpour eases to a steady silver shower,
clouds drift apart,
sunlight elbows through,
I scan the sky expectantly,
hopefully…
and I am not disappointed.
Against a billowed backdrop
of blue-gray clouds,
a veil of color gently curves,
gift of rain and sun,
sign of hope,
smile of God,
heaven’s arms holding space,
sharing the secret that all light holds:
a glorious variety of hues,
reminder of the glorious variety of humans,
of plants, animals,
rocks, rivers,
skies, seas.
I can’t help but smile and hope,
for on the other side of the rain
there is a luminous bridge,
arcing in a joyful embrace of us all.
On the other side of the rain
is a rainbow.
-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 2025. All rights reserved.