children

The last of the holiday guests
(grown children, their children,
and one new dog)
have just driven away, headed home.
There are sheets to wash,
floors to sweep,
leftovers to freeze,
gift boxes to put in the recycle,
but I sit down in my comfy chair
and simply listen.
I don’t want to miss this moment,
for it comes only once a year,
this moment when quiet is loud,
thick as dense fog,
and heavy from holding so much weight—
lots of laughter,
a few tears,
the eager energy of children,
the willing weariness of grownups,
newly made memories,
hopes for the future.
I take this time
(for silence this deep demands time)
to absorb it into my heart,
knowing I will carry this quiet
like a treasure.
I breathe into the absence of noise,
let it breathe itself into me,
let it thrum like a pulse.
A jet flies over.
A neighbor starts his leaf blower.
Birdsong breaks through.
There are sheets to wash,
floors to sweep,
leftovers to freeze,
gift boxes to put in the recycle,
and a rich quietness
to carry into a new year.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

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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:

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

Carry the Calm

Karyn Henley

When Quiet is Loud

Where Does This Key Go?