calendar

A magenta dianthus peeked out of its pot
on my back deck this week,
its petals curled, shivering in the chill
but bright and hopeful anyway.
“Have you not seen the calendar?” I ask.
“It’s mid-December.
Tomorrow will be below freezing.”
But my garden does not look at the calendar,
does not care that I’m thinking Winter.
No, my garden feels its way day by day
according to the whims of the weather,
for seasons can be fickle,
can change in a heartbeat,
serve up winter in spring
or spring in winter.
So gardens ride the swing of the seasons,
sense the sway from fair to frosty,
frying pan hot to freezer cold.
Each plant, on its own timetable,
blooms or goes to seed
by some inborn instinct.
Here, today, halfway through December,
a neighbor’s tree is sprouting spring green.
A gaggle of black-eyed Susans
glow yellow-gold in the shy sunshine.
Purple pansies huddle together,
friendly-faced nodding gossips.
And the leaves of the lenten roses
are stretching up and out
to let the world know
we’ve not been forgotten;
they will soon bloom.
Nature’s wisdom says
ride the swing of the seasons,
for December can still bloom,
and swaying between fair and frosty
is the way life works.
Nature’s wisdom says the calendar does not dictate
when to bloom and when to fade.
-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.

It’s the first day of Spring.

With a slow stretch,

the sun yawns into the deep, still sea of sky,

softens the clear, cloudless blue,

reddens the top branches of the elms,

slowly slides its smiling light down the trunks.

I watch from my upstairs window.

Oh, Spring, at times

I thought you had forgotten us.

But your name is on the calendar square.

I’ve underlined it.

And here you are!

Warmth is drifting through the air, I think,

anticipating a day without a coat,

maybe even without a sweater.

I’m thinking bluebirds,

white blossoms on the dogwood,

seeds to be planted,

spring-fresh air to breathe.

Then I notice the roof of the first floor

just beneath my window.

The shingles glitter with frost.

I flick my phone to the weather.

Twenty-six degrees.

Twenty-six!

Oh, Winter,

you may be gone,

but in your wake, you’ve left a chill.

Of course you have,

for it’s only

the first day of Spring.

– 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

No Looking at the Calendar

The Sun Yawned