Early Birds

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

Birdsong begins in my yard at 3:45.
In the morning.
The birds remind me of this fact
when I sleep with windows open.
Night bugs have hummed me to sleep,
birdsong greets me when I wake—
or when it wakes me
in the wee hours.
This morning,
a mockingbird on some nearby perch
commenced his concert at 4:00.
He ran through his repertoire
interspersing chirps and chirrs
with fancy fluting phrases
rising and dipping and dancing.
But it’s early.
I glance at my clock.
Very early.
Are these birds singing in their sleep?
Or summoning the sunrise?
Or maybe the first hint of dawn
is already drifting into the sky
and summoning them.
If the early bird catches the worm,
these warblers will be well-fed.
Maybe this is their prayer before breakfast.
Maybe they are singing in pure joy
at the bounty, the beauty, the blessing
of simply being,
being a flying, perching, singing soul
here to see the sun circle
one more day.
I lie back, pillowed and peaceful,
listening and grateful.
As the mockingbird’s melodies
melt into morning,
I let him sing me back to sleep.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

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Windows and Wings

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

Surfacing from the depths of dream
in the middle of the night,
I find my mind replaying
a difficult day,
rewinding, reminding.
All I want to do is turn over,
return to sleep.
Instead, I walk the edge of wakefulness
wishing to will myself into slumber,
but my mind hums,
will not will itself
to leave life alone for a while.
At last, I ease open my eyes.
There on my night-gray ceiling
are two splashes of light
from my neighbor’s yard,
filtered through my window
and stretching above me,
skewed and angled,
softly crossing
like stylized wings
painted protectively overhead.
Windows have become wings,
and that feels just right,
for windows are wings for me.
By day, by night,
windows set my soul to flight,
open me to the dancing expanse
of wonder and hope
that lies beyond
and beyond the beyond.
My eyes drift closed.
Grateful for windows,
grateful for wings,
I settle once more
into sleep.
-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 2026. All rights reserved.

There’s a Cat in My Lap

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

Basil and marigolds
are starting to droop in their pots
and I really should water them,
but there’s a cat on my lap,
curled up and cozy,
so I watch twilight
paint the sky lavender
and darken to purple.
I need to change the air filter
in my refrigerator.
I have the replacement out
on the counter,
ready to go,
but there’s a cat in my lap,
eyes closed, breathing softly,
so I watch the lights come on
in the neighbors’ windows,
squares of warm gold,
friendly islands
in the deepening darkness.
I thought I might read
as I sit here rocking,
or answer some emails,
but my hands are folded under
a cat in my lap,
so I notice the white that perfectly outlines
her gray-brown ears.
I really need to wash the dishes
and take out the trash.
Feel free to tell me so,
but, you see,
there’s a cat in my lap,
and I am grateful,
for she is old,
she is faithful,
she is even now teaching me
to rest,
to wait,
to see all that would have gone unnoticed
if she had not settled down in my lap.
So the basil and marigolds can wait,
and the refrigerator filter, too.
I can read and answer emails later,
and the dishes aren’t going anywhere.
There’s a cat in my lap,
so I take the hint,
settle in,
close my eyes,
and breathe softly,
purrfectly content.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

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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-