frost

The Dance of the Season

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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.

The Sun Yawned

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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.

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

Winter Garden

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Before Spring dances in to stay, I offer one more tribute to Winter.

 

The winter garden is skeletal,

stripped to its bark-bones

and skinny stems.

Brown, brittle seed heads

of Black-eyed Susans shiver

at the wind’s cold whisper.

Tattered leaves

of frostbitten Citronella

droop,

dangle,

shudder,

tangle.

A chill gust whips

the dry rust-red cascade

of sleeping Creeping Jenny

into a wide awake, wild dance,

its fronds a frenzy

of airborne ribbons.

Branches of Crape Myrtle sway

like arms with curled fingers

offering pearled brown seed pods

to the winter-blue sky.

If it seems that I’m describing dreariness,

and dearth,

and death,

perhaps I am.

But I mean to paint a graceful picture,

artful wonders formed by frost

and darkness

and biting wind,

paring back the backyard world

to its simple glory,

its skeletal scaffolding,

the elemental beauty

of Nature’s underpainting,

a delicate design

visible only

in this

season.

– 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.

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

It Seems Backward

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The morning sun is melting the frost on roofs and lawns except where there are shadows. So instead of the shadows being dark, they’re frosty white. The trunk of one of our elm trees is casting a shadow on the next-door garage roof. Its shadow is a long, rectangular streak of white frost on dark gray shingles. It seems backward for a shadow to be white. But then, nature always has something new up her sleeve, and I always have something to learn. – kh, from Noticing: 365 Days of Calm Reflections

 

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 © 2022 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.

Something Whispered

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Something told the wild geese

– It was time to go;

Though the fields lay golden

– Something whispered, – ‘Snow.’

Leaves were green and stirring,

– Berries luster-glossed,

But beneath warm feathers

– Something cautioned, – ‘Frost.’

– Rachel Field –

 

Enjoy the magical change of seasons. Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the Week – a lamppost:

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Text and photos © 2020 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.

Among the Frosts

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“There is a rumor of total welcome among the frosts of the winter morning.”

– Mary Oliver, Upstream –

 

Winter welcomes,

beckons,

invites us to

pause

on the brittle brink of the year,

witness

the shimmer of the season,

listen

for undertones of time passing

on icy tiptoe,

breathe

the crisp air.

Drink all of it.

Deeply.

Deeply grateful.

– kh

 

Nurture peace, cultivate loving kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week – a visitor at my heated birdbath:

Shadow of the Week – spied at church:

 

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

For my posts on life, faith, and the mystery we call God, link here.

 

Text and photos © 2018 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.

Mute Music

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“[E]very withered stem

and stubble rimed with frost,

contribute something

to the mute music [of winter].”

– Emerson, “Nature” –

 

Pause for a moment this week to enjoy stems and stubble, to listen to the shushing sound they make in the wind – or if the day is still, to discover the season’s mute music.

Nurture peace, cultivate loving 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.

For my posts on life, faith, and the mystery we call God, link here.

 

Text and photos © 2017 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.