The In-Between Times

 

I woke to birdsong this morning,

a good-morning melody

welcoming the silver-gray light

weaving through the clouds and soft rain

of these in-between days

that bridge winter and spring

and seem so random—

today frosty, possible snow,

tomorrow warm, a hug of sunshine.

New blooms have appeared

on the neighbor’s hellebore,

Lenten roses right on time.

Purple crocuses have smiled open

under the magnolia,

a bit of yellow peeks from a drift of daffodils

under the hackberry,

all cheering me

in these between times.

And truly, we are always in between—

between starting and finishing,

between losing and finding,

between our last step and our next step.

Isn’t it the same with people as with nature?

There are those who bloom

in the in-between times,

those who are our crocuses,

our daffodils,

our Lenten roses,

whose mere presence is a sign of hope,

good cheer,

encouragement

in between the loss of what was

and the uncertainty of what will be,

those who ground us in the present moment

of the in-between.

Thank God for our crocuses,

our daffodils,

our Lenten roses.

Thank God for our in-between friends.

–kh–

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

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Text and photos © 2024 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.

Open-Eyed and Full-Hearted

 

Sometimes all you can do is

hope

that this year will be better.

I’ve long passed the stage of

buying into Jiminy Cricket’s

“If you wish upon a star…”

I’m way past believing

pie-in-the-sky.

I’m beyond thinking that

if I just do everything right,

everything will be all right.

I’m way past all that.

But I’m not past hope.

I’m not past looking the world

full in the face,

eyes open wide,

and knowing life can be better,

even great,

because

I know people who care.

I know love and peace and joy.

I know kindness and goodness

and grace and generosity.

I’m way past closed eyes

and grasping at straws,

but I’m not past hope.

May we never be past

open-eyed

full-hearted

hope.

–kh–

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

 

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

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Text and photos © 2024 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.

A Rather Large Keepsake

 

The little girl is made of iron.

Stiff-backed and still she stands

holding up a garden hose to

water whatever she can—

black-eyed Susans in the fall,

coreopsis in the summer,

larkspur and salvia in springtime,

seed pods and freeze-dried leaves in winter.

Unmoving, resolved, in wind and rain,

in snow and hail and sunshine,

she keeps her vigil.

My father had her made for my mother.

They raised four daughters, and

while none of us ever stood this still,

not even playing hide and seek,

maybe this girl was a reminder

of wiggly giggly girls grown

and going their own way.

Now that both my father and mother are gone,

this little iron girl belongs to me,

a rather large keepsake,

a reminder of girls growing up

and now growing old.

But even more,

she reminds me that

we have weathered the world’s wildness before,

and can again,

in every season,

persistently watering,

insistently cultivating

peace—

not without pain,

not without questions,

but also not without wonder,

not without heart.

She reminds me that

a stilled spirit,

a calm soul

is itself a keepsake

as we water

with kindness and hope

whatever we can.

–kh–

 

 

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

 

Nature of the week – the little iron girl in last week’s snow:

Shadow of the week – from yesterday’s drawing class:

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Waking to Snow

‎Text and photos © 2024 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.

Flames of Spring Green

 

This morning my hydrangea,

bedraggled and brown,

decided Spring has arrived.

Each spindly stem,

lined with loose withered leaves,

has become a spindly candle

topped with a tiny flame of

spring-green leaves.

I shake my head. It’s December.

Doesn’t Nature know better than to

leaf out

when Winter is just days away?

Nature whispers, Enjoy my candles,

my hope,

resilience,

renewal,

reawakening,

untethered to season.

Nature is budding

just for the joy of it.

Yesterday, someone asked me,

How old are you?

Seventy-one, I told him.

Really—he said—I wouldn’t have guessed.

Really.

Yes, really.

But I, like my hydrangea,

have decided that Spring has come.

–kh–

 

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

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

Looking at Green

“Go outside,”

my friend’s therapist said.

“Go outside and look at the green.”

The used heart,

the abused heart,

the wounded soul

turns inward with pain,

tunnels in,

builds a protective shell,

like a snail, hides inside.

Colors, once bright and bold,

become muted,

care full,

shrinking into shadows,

swept into shards—

but there,

still there.

“Go outside.

Go outside and look at

all the colors of green.”

My friend did.

She opened the door.

Green met her there,

and she saw that green

was not just green

but elegant emerald,

warm olive,

deep forest,

soft sage,

splashy sea green,

tart apple green,

sunlit spring green,

lime,

moss,

pine,

branching out,

stretching up,

dancing in the wind,

basking on a rock,

climbing a fence,

life giving life,

simply being,

full and changing

one day at a time,

brightening,

fading,

from one green to another,

simple,

restful,

growing,

hopeful.

My friend laughs now with delight

at being precisely who she is.

She is evergreen.

“Go outside and

look at the

green.”

– kh –

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the Week:

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

Could it Become a Symphony?

In the branches above me,

a bird—cardinal? wren?

I’m not expert enough to say—

sings a lilting tune

and is echoed by a distant bird,

an early morning call and response.

I imagine this network of singers,

this connection between birds

who share the same song,

who hear each other

and answer

above the rush of traffic,

the wind through the trees,

the hum of the jet crossing overhead.

I imagine this stream of song,

stretching like a strand of gossamer,

loose and floating but strong,

crossing the city,

one bird to another.

Could it make its way

around the world?

Could it become a symphony?

I imagine that it does.

I imagine, too, those of us

who share the same song of hope,

who protect deep peace in our hearts,

who honor loving kindness for all,

who pray for peace to blanket the world

but fear that our voices simply sound

like the thin chirps of distant birds.

Still, our gossamer thread is strong.

Does my voice echo yours, I wonder,

or is it the other way around?

As with birds,

who begins the song

and who carries it on

is of no consequence.

What matters is the song

making its wise way through the world

beyond the ruckus of resentment,

above the bite of arrogance.

What matters is that we never stop spreading

the possibility of peace.

Sing on, friends.

Listen to the distant voices

and the near ones,

the clarion carriers

of the call of peace.

Catch that song,

weave it into your voice,

echo its hope,

for somewhere a listening ear waits

to hear that melody,

to send it on

and on

across the world.

– kh –

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the Week:

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

The Color of Life

 

The poem claimed that life was the color of

“almost pale white robin’s green…”*

I shook my head,

for I know that the color of life

is blue—

blue like the sky,

blue like the sea,

blue for peace that is meant to be,

blue for cool breath,

blue for color-shifting twilight.

its blue-green glow deepening

to velvet blue

as night falls.

I feel the color of life as blue—

the blue-violet of deep thought,

the sharp-edged gray blue of grief,

the airy, floating blue of hope.

Yes. The color of life is blue—

thirst quenching,

soul resting,

heart holding,

dream painting,

wild-and-tame,

up-and-down,

surge-and-rest,

swimming,

swirling,

settling,

soothing

blue.

I see you shaking your head.

What color is life

to you?

– kh –

* from “Eggshell” by Gerald Stern

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

 

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the Week:

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

In The Realm of Inner Peace

 

In the realm of inner peace

of deep, cleansing breath,

of heart and hope and holiness

of the spirit’s table set for welcome,

in this realm of inner peace,

the weather is not constant

but ebbs and flows like waves of the sea,

like the drift and rush of wind,

unseen and elusive,

now whispering with joy,

now howling with grief,

weaving each together in a swirl

of uncertainty,

breathing life into our fragile frames,

humming wholeness into our startled hearts,

returning us to the settled sureness

of in-breath and out-breath,

the steady beat of life.

In the realm of inner peace,

of the momentous moment,

ordinary or extraordinary,

witty or wary,

of questions held gingerly,

answers held loosely,

in this realm of inner peace

two rivers flow,

one tumbling incautiously over stones

gray with pain,

one smooth and rippling,

easing its way with glints of courage,

fresh vision,

and quenching calm.

These two rivers often run side by side,

one splashing into the other

before joining and sharing their waters.

We dip cupped hands in and drink

and bathe our spirits in both.

We laugh.

We weep.

We find our own way through the rapids

and into pools of momentary stillness

before we journey on.

For this is the way,

the path,

the course of life.

There is no map.

But listen.

Listen to the wind.

Follow the flow of the two rivers.

For here in this realm,

there is inner peace,

and the table is always spread

for welcome.

– kh –

 

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

 

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the Week:

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

Hanging On

 

Last crisp leaf shivers

dangling in the frosty breeze.

Don’t let go just yet.

– kh –

 

Don’t let go of hope. Don’t stop reaching for peace. Don’t give up on kindness. Don’t let go just yet.

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

 

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the Week:

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

The Secret of Cupped Hands

 

I have a daydream of the present moment, the now. In that dream, we stand with hands cupped before us, holding what we thought were the thorns of the past. But they’ve turned into fragrant flowers. As we cradle these flowers in our palms, something marvelous happens: the petals become wings, and with one joyful toss of our cupped hands, we send them flying into the future. And when we lower our hands, we realize that, in spite of everything we let go, our hands are not empty. They are full of mystery and grace and hope enough to fuel our next steps.

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 © 2022 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.