A Gift of Poppies

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

A friend shared her garden with me

in a baggie of poppy seeds,

tiny black things

that could be mistaken

for a swarm of gnats.

I had my doubts that they would grow,

for I am a haphazard gardener.

But I do love the look of delicate,

showy, confident poppies,

so I planted the seeds.

Those tiny black dots sprouted and stretched

into tall, slender stalks

that birthed frilly-edged blooms of

rosy pink with inner brush-strokes of lavender

around a globe-shaped center,

a tiny pumpkin-like pod of yellow and green.

I wish poppies would bloom all summer,

but petals faded,

fluttered,

fell from their centers,

those small, round globes,

each now regally topped with a tiny crown.

Then something astonishing happened.

As the globes browned,

under their crowns,

tiny holes appeared

like observation windows for gnats—

or, as it happens,

escape hatches for seeds.

Stems dry, weaken,

bend in the wind.

Out fall the seeds and scatter on the ground.

My grandson said, “Pretty soon poppies

will cover your whole yard,

because you get more and more each season.”

And I nod,

for that is how gracious a garden is,

how generous.

One plant multiplies its beautiful, bountiful self

in tiny seed-promises,

packets of hope for the year to come.

And if I pluck the seed pods

before they spill,

I can shake seeds out of their windows

and into a baggie

to share with a friend

these tiny black things

that could be mistaken

for a swarm of gnats

but are really a gift of beauty

and bounty

and hope

and grace.

-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.

The Sacrament of Waking

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

In the drift of easing from night dreams

into the gift of a new dawn,

there exists a pause,

a delicious time,

a handful of moments,

the day reborn in peace.

This handful of half-waking minutes

is a carrier,

a courier,

an envoy of the sacred—

a sacrament.

In the fraying fog of waking,

I feel my fragile frame,

my trusting weight generously held,

graciously cradled,

between blanket and bed,

between heaven and earth.

This moment is a silver bowl

holding silent prayers

measured in heartbeats,

whispered in slow, easy breaths.

In a handful of half-awake minutes,

time touches eternity.

– 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.

What the Bee Sees

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

Lean close to summer blooms—

peek into petunias,

dive deep into daylilies,

stare boldly at black-eyed Susans,

push past flashy petals

into the center,

the inner sanctum,

anthers and stamen,

tiny flying flags

or miniature stars

or prickly pillows

dusty with pollen,

maybe moist with the season’s

sweet dew.

This is what the bee must see

as he follows the path

of a petal’s dark veins

to settle headfirst,

to nestle inside

for a moment

or two.

The butterfly flicks

her curling, unfurling,

thread-thin tongue

to taste this splendor.

The ant tiptoes in,

humble on this holy ground,

this extravagant gift.

It’s our gift too

for the mere price

of a moment’s noticing.

Peek in.

Dive deep.

Lean close.

Stare boldly.

See what the bee sees.

– 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

gift

A Gift of Poppies

The Sacrament of Waking

What the Bee Sees