Twenty-seven Degrees

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

Twenty-seven degrees.
A cardinal is caroling,
bright as a holiday ornament
in the bare branches of the elm tree.
Robins gather in a circle
around the heated birdbath.
I bundle up to go to the grocery store.
I feel rather chipmunkish in my habits,
scurrying out to get food,
hurrying home to halfway hibernate.
I have bought yeast
and flour and eggs and butter.
I have all the cozy ingredients
to bake bread.
And I do.
Fresh baked bread is comfort food,
gives the air a buttery warm smell.
I hold my cold hands
over the open oven door
where the rising heat drifts up and out
like the breath of a hot summer breeze.
Outside, the chilly joy of twenty-seven degrees.
Inside, the warm joy of an open oven door.
-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 2025. All rights reserved.

Winter’s Brittle Beauty

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

I am warm-weather at heart,
loving all things green and growing,
but when bare elms stretch
in latticework across the sky
and pine branches bow to a cold, fresh wind,
when clouds layer softly in shadowed grays,
and dried blooms and crisp leaves stand stiff as straw,
when marigold seed pods dangle on their stalks,
and basil seeds shelter on tiers of miniature pagodas,
when frost dusts shingles,
and smoke rises in lazy curls from a neighbor’s chimney
and the scent of wood smoke drifts through the air,
when a chilly in-breath fills my lungs and clears my head,
then I am grateful for Winter,
for her brittle beauty,
for Nature’s season of rest.
The world seems somehow simpler,
and I am simply grateful.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

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The Peace of Mid-Morning

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

The clock ticks quietly

mid-morning

on this day that’s sunny

with a thin layer of clouds.

It’s warm enough for open windows.

A light breeze drifts in.

Outside it’s flicking leaves off the trees.

They tumble,

somersault,

land with soft clicks,

rattle to a stop and settle,

only to be scooped up

by a sudden gust

that skitters them,

scatters them,

tumbles them

into a pile against the fence.

The elm is speckled with the hangers-on,

the last to let go.

Soon it will be empty

of leaves.

The clock ticks

quietly toward noon.

– 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.