Except for the Violets

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

“Everything is terrible,” she said,
“except for daffodils.”
I nodded.
Everything seems so, so terrible—
except the daffodils are blooming.
And the lenten roses.
And forsythia and saucer magnolias.
Cherry blossoms tumble in the breeze
like spring snow.
Everything is terrible—
except for the violets scattered across the lawn
and the purple-red blossoms on the redbuds.
The hyacinths’ perfume smells heavenly.
Newborn leaves, feather-fine
sprout on the tulip poplar.
The whole treescape wears a green sheen.
Bluebirds are moving into the birdhouse.
Doves, cardinals, chickadees, sparrows
sing welcome to the warmth of spring,
Children run and play, smile and laugh.
I hold out both of my hands, palms up.
In one, I feel the weight of everything terrible,
in the other, the fullness of everything good,
for goodness and beauty have weight too.
I try to find the balance.
I wish all people,
everyone everywhere,
could hold only goodness, kindness, beauty.
But life has never been that way.
Maybe someday?
For now, I close my hand around the terrible,
feel it as a hard, jagged rock.
I cannot let it go, for it is real and demanding,
and I cry for it,
for I know that it does not have to be.
But then there is my other hand,
my always open hand,
holding the weight of goodness,
which is surprisingly firm and powerful
even as it sits soft as a butterfly in my hand.
Goodness, kindness, beauty—
in this hand is life,
creating and recreating,
loving and laughing,
always growing like spring.
This open hand is for sharing,
especially when it seems that everything is terrible.
Yes, there is this hard, jagged, hurtful rock,
but look—
see?
There is also a butterfly.
-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.

Ah, the Dahlia

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

In the warming days of spring,

I planted two spidery tubers,

dahlias-to-be.

They soon sent up shoots,

greening, growing,

straight stems,

branching arms,

arrowed, light-veined leaves.

I watched for blooms to form,

for I had forgotten what color

they would be,

and I love the surprise of dahlias.

One bloomed in midsummer,

petals the color of burgundy wine.

The other grew taller,

stretched her leaves,

but gave no sign of blooms.

I made excuses for her.

(I am an expert at excuses,

being a late bloomer myself.)

Maybe it’s the heat, I said.

It’s been awfully hot this summer.

Maybe it’s because she came from

the supermarket, not the nursery.

Maybe I gave her too much water.

Or not enough.

I never know.

The fire-red salvia came and went,

the peppery basil is going to seed,

even the fragrant mint has bloomed.

I began to think this dahlia

would be content to wear green

all her life.

(Late bloomer that I am,

I’ve not outgrown impatience.)

Then, this week,

two blooms uncurled,

unfurled,

creamy peach,

warm blushing joy.

I had forgotten what her name was,

if the package even said.

Some dahlias are named Beauty

or Charlotte

or White Moonlight.

I call this one

Patience,

for that is the wisdom she carries:

Plant beauty, kindness, grace,

she says,

then be at peace,

patient.

-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:

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

Soul Stretching

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

“So let us look for beauty and grace, for love and friendship, for that which is creative and birth-giving and soul-stretching. Let us dare to laugh at ourselves, healthy, affirmative laughter. Only when we take ourselves lightly can we take ourselves seriously.” – Madeleine L’Engle from her lecture Dare to Be Creative

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 Sky’s Gift

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

It is the sky that makes the earth so lovely at sunrise,

and so splendid at sunset.

In the one it breathes over the earth the crystal-like ether,

in the other liquid gold.

– painter Thomas Cole –

A wondrous sky greets this cold, crisp morning. It’s criss-crossed with contrails, probably due to holiday travel. Toward the horizon, a wide sweep of thin, feathery clouds spans the blue like a skyscape dry-brushed in white across a deep blue canvas. All this, and the sun is still on the rise. It’s painting tree tops gold, while their lower trunks and branches rest in twilight shadow. The sky is breathing over the earth, waking it up with beauty.

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.

Taking Ourselves Lightly

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

“So let us look for beauty and grace, for love and friendship, for that which is creative and birth-giving and soul-stretching. Let us dare to laugh at ourselves, healthy, affirmative laughter. Only when we take ourselves lightly can we take ourselves seriously, so that we are given the courage to say, ‘Yes! I dare disturb the universe.’” – Madeleine L’Engle

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.

Precise, Meticulous Beauty

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

It’s hosta season. Their large bouquets of leaves have been content to sit on the ground for weeks, soaking up the summer sun until they were ready to send up tall, thin stems and line them with buds. Last week, they were ready, bursting with light purple buds veined in darker purple. The petals of the buds are folded up, cupping their centers protectively the way my grandson’s hands cup a newfound treasure to hide and protect it.

This week, the buds began to open. Each bloom has six purple petals pointed at the tips. Deep inside where the petals connect to each other, they’re white. From that inner sanctum, one pure white pistil and six white filaments rise taller than the petals and curve gently down like a swan’s neck. At the end of each filament is a tiny, elongated anther of dark purple, maybe even black, with two of the tiniest, vertical, tan-gold stripes on their faces. I am amazed. There is nothing careless here.

It doesn’t matter to this hosta, this precise, meticulous beauty, whether or not I pause here to look closely. Hostas will keep budding and blooming and being beautiful, because that’s who they are. No, it doesn’t matter to the hosta if I see it or not. But it does matter to me.

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.

Like the Glorious Rose

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

“We can walk across the lawn in the morning dew, smell the grass and pick a dandelion, because, like the glorious rose, it has a beauty all its own, as do all things, if we will only learn to look for it.” – Joan Chittister, The Gift of Years

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week: