Air with a Wild Side

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

A rainy morning,
a pottery mug,
steam rising, barely visible,
the aroma of toasty coffee.
I hold this cup of comfort,
admire the steam-drift
as liquid shape-shifts into cloud,
the aliveness of it
diffusing in a dance
undulating upward,
thinning until it vanishes
into the coolness of the room.
Even then its dance goes on,
for it’s the air around this fairy wisp
that directs the dance,
the always-moving air
that shifts it,
swirls it,
twirls it,
the same air with a wild side
that gusts and roars,
whirls and stirs
dust devils, hurricanes, tornadoes.
Through the window,
I watch today’s weather,
wind rocking branches,
scattering raindrops,
loosening autumn leaves,
and I realize it’s the wind I listen for,
the wind I want to feel,
the wind I want to befriend.
This morning it’s a tiny breath,
a whisper of breeze,
a hushed brush of wind
waltzing with the steam
that rises from my coffee
to calmly, quietly
start my day.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

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Following the Fingerprints

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

A morning shower has cocooned us
in clouds of soft silver gray,
embroidering our window screens
with seed pearls of glinting, dewy
droplets.
I am warming myself with hot coffee,
not in my usual smoothly curved,
factory-fashioned white cup
but in a handmade pottery mug
ringed by ridges
formed by the potter’s fingers
deftly pinching and pulling the clay
as it whirled on a wheel somewhere.
This mug is glazed shiny brown on the outside,
light pink-lavender within,
though the pink is now halfway hidden
by steaming coffee.
As I sip, I notice the potter’s thumbprint,
a dip pressed with purpose
exactly at the point
where the handle meets the mug’s rim,
a place where my thumb also rests
to hold the mug.
It’s a tiny, thoughtful gift
from someone I’ll never meet.
My right hand fingers hug the handle,
and my thumb rests in the thumbprint.
My left-hand fingers curve around the mug,
finding and following the fingerprints of the potter.
As I hold this mug,
I hold the potter’s hand, and
even though I’ll never know the potter,
I feel a genuine gesture of generosity,
a connection of kindness,
of comfort,
of kinship.
I’m grateful for this unknown potter
whose presence in this present moment
is bringing warmth and goodness
to the start of a soft,
silver gray day.
-kh-