For the Price of a Pause

Spring tiptoed in during the night.
I didn’t expect her so soon.
Winter may yet wave
a final icy farewell,
but today the air hums with Spring,
and I have paused my plans
to revel in her return,
to wonder at the newborn world.
Daffodils dance in a drowsy flowerbed.
Tiny purple blooms run wild in the grass.
Pear trees show off snowy white blossoms.
Lenten roses raise their faces, blushing.
Above in barely budding trees,
birds chatter and cheer and
sing welcome
as if they’ve been secretly saving,
all winter long,
this exact song
for this exact moment.
The breeze, mild and gusty,
flirts with the flowers,
ruffles the robin’s feathers,
whispers to the bluebird
a hint of rain to come.
I marvel at Nature’s generosity.
For the simple price of a pause,
she pours out to me more than I can hold—
seasonal symphonies of sound and song,
an ever-changing gallery of shifting colors,
shapes and shadows
coming and going and coming again,
all mine to see, to hear,
to hold in my heart,
all for the price of a pause.
-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 2026. All rights reserved.

Tangled in a Tree

There’s a balloon
caught high in a neighbor’s tree.
I’ve been keeping an eye on it for weeks.
At first it looked like a grand butterfly
flapping oversized wings
as the wind tried to blow it down.
It never dropped but day by day
shrank until it dangled,
entangled and trapped in twiggy tentacles.
Each breath of the breeze
makes it wave like a flag,
flapping and flashing gold-red in the sun.
My mind wants to make something natural of it—
perhaps it’s a precariously perched hawk
or a squirrel out on a limb,
maybe a clump of mistletoe
or an angel trumpet bloom,
maybe one last giant red autumn leaf
clinging to this leafless winter tree.
But this metallic dangling thing is not natural,
probably poses a danger
to birds,
to squirrels,
to buds that will come in the spring.
I once untangled a robin caught in a string
that was, in turn, snagged in a bush.
I once freed a sparrow
whose foot was trapped
in the bars of a feeder.
I remember how helpless they were,
weighing almost nothing
but fighting with every ounce to get free.
So I hope that before a bird is tangled
in this saggy baggy balloon,
the ribbon will wear thin,
the mylar will tear,
and the danger will fall from the tree
to be tossed into someone’s trash can.
But for now, there’s a deflated balloon
dangling high in a neighbor’s tree.
I’ll enjoy the magic of its changing colors
as the sun comes and goes,
the surprise of its shifting shapes
as the wind sighs and blows.
I’ll keep an eye on it.
-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 2026. All rights reserved.

The Changing Weather of Peace

Peace and stillness—
sometimes they go together,
sometimes they don’t.
Like wind,
peace can breeze in softly,
but it can also whistle sparkling cold
through cracks in closed hearts.
Wake up, it says, all will be well.
There’s a pensive peace
that watches the sky for storm clouds.
There’s peace that sighs in relief
when trouble skims past,
simply rocking branches, teasing leaves.
Then there’s peace that weathers the storm
like a boulder unmoved,
the tree left standing.
And there’s a festive peace,
noisy and fresh as a sudden spring shower,
full of laughter, lifted glasses, shared stories.
This holiday season held that peace for me—
a flowing, swirling, rushing peace
of listening and watching the joy of family,
the gratitude of gathering,
the hope of health and happiness to come.
Now that family has left
and I sit alone in my family room,
the stillness returns.
Peace drifts down like silent snow,
and I know that peace
is the weather
of the healing heart.
-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 2024. All rights reserved.

A Game of War I Don’t Want to Play

 

He’s being cranky again, my young grandson,

corralling me into a game of war

I do not want to play,

the swingset the villain’s lair.

I don’t like war, I tell him.

I don’t like fighting.

I like peace.

He says, “First you fight the monsters,

and then you go to your place of peace.”

I look up,

up to the treetops,

take a deep breath.

I don’t tell him that I have some experience

in fighting monsters who were not quite

as imaginary as his.

Or were they?

I also don’t tell him

that I don’t always win.

The treetops sway,

the breeze whispers peace.

I look back at my grandson.

“Okay,” I say.

“I will fight your monsters.”

And my heart breaks a little.

Because I know that I will.

-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the Week:

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Text and photos © 2023 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.

The Dance of the Season

 

It’s the dance of the season,

the frolic of Fall.

Leaves

drift

down.

Pollen freckles the birdbath,

tickles my nose—

a snappy breeze,

an autumn sneeze.

Branches bow,

a leaf breaks loose.

Then another.

And another.

Lifted and swirled,

tossed and twirled,

they join the drift,

the sink and lift on

cool currents of air

that stir them around

and down

to the ground

to scuffle and settle.

All the while, the breeze whispers to leaves

still clinging to branches,

“Come and dance.

Come and dance.”

And they do,

and they will

until branches are bare

and a chill stirs the air.

Then Fall flicks her skirts

and flirts with Winter

who knows this dance well.

She’ll take the lead

flinging flakes of frost

in a waltz with the wind.

But that’s weeks away.

For today, it’s a breeze

and a sneeze

and a timid drift

of golden leaves.

– kh –

 

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

 

Nature of the week—moonrise:

Shadow of the Week:

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Text and photos © 2023 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.

Something About the Night

 

There is something soft and friendly

about the night,

a slowing,

settling,

deep drift

that creeps silently over the world

as the light folds her brightly colored fan

and fades.

Evening shadows gently wash over

grasses and gardens,

chipmunks and squirrels,

bugs and birds.

Darkness rises to the rooftops,

shoulders over the treetops

until all rests under a dome of darkness

where stars sail and the moon smiles

and the night breeze dances.

When I was young,

I was taught about heaven.

“There is no night there,” we sang,

which saddened me for years.

No night?

No beautiful, calming, restful night?

No chirp of crickets?

No whirr of night bugs?

No lovely call of a lone owl?

I am not convinced about heaven,

but I know the night.

I love the night.

There is something soft and friendly

about the night.

-kh-

 

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

 

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the Week:

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Text and photos © 2023 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.

Hanging On

 

Last crisp leaf shivers

dangling in the frosty breeze.

Don’t let go just yet.

– kh –

 

Don’t let go of hope. Don’t stop reaching for peace. Don’t give up on kindness. Don’t let go just yet.

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

 

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the Week:

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Text and photos © 2023 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.

Bend with the Wind

 

The higher your structure is to be,

the deeper must be its foundation.

– St. Augustine –

Yesterday I walked with a friend along a trail that circles the lake at Radnor Lake State Park here in Nashville. The trail edges the woods, where at this time of year, gold and red leaves drift down to cover the path like a carpet. At several places, large tree roots jut up and out in a jumble across the path. These great knees and elbows of roots rise and dip and curve and cross. I watch my footing and pick my way through. The woods feel ancient, and it’s a great privilege to see these old roots. I know that the trees have other roots going deep, deep, deep down into the earth. So it feels like these uplifted roots are a bit of a gift, a secret revealed. Grow tall, they say. Dance with the breeze. Bend with the wind. And stay rooted.

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness and carry the calm.

 

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the Week:

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Text and photos © 2022 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.

The Peace of Simply Sitting

After lunch yesterday, I simply sat in my sunroom. I would say I sat in silence, but I was the silent one; the world around me kept humming, although quietly—a gentle tick of the clock, the soft breath of the air conditioner, muted chirps from birds outdoors, the distant rush of a jet crossing the sky. Sunlight turned the tops of the leaves outside a bright green, while deeper in and underneath, the leaves were a forest of dark shadow. A gentle breeze swayed their stems and led them in a slow dance. I was still and silent for only a moment, but that moment filled me with a sense of expanding serenity, and I returned to the tasks of the day refreshed and hopeful.

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

 

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the Week:

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Text and photos © 2022 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.

Talking of Rain

 

“The aspens at the cross-roads talk together

Of rain, until their last leaves fall from the top.”

Edward Thomas, “Aspens” –

 

The cool morning breeze is whispering to the trees that rain is coming. Hackberries and elms are dropping their golden-brown leaves a few at a time. As they drift slowly down, I breathe deeply of this moment of peace.

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 © 2021 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.