hope

Steady and Soft, Damaging and Deadly

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After weeks of drought,

the rains finally came,

steady and soft.

I sat back and listened to

the soft tap of droplets

showering the windowpane,

the white noise of water boiling

in the kettle,

the gentle creak

of the rocking chair,

whispery gusts of wind,

the hum of the fridge,

the purr of the cat,

the turn of a page,

the distant whir of a jet in flight,

fading into the sound of the rain,

the delicious,

life-giving

rain.

 

This is not

what my friend heard

in North Carolina,

for this same storm system

that brought me sweet,

life-giving rain

wore a wild mood

when it reached her

rushing in a raging torrent,

a damaging, deadly downpour.

In my back yard,

when the rain ended,

the renewed trees dripped,

sated and peaceful.

Birds warbled and chortled,

branch to branch,

tree to tree,

a clear, world-washed song.

 

When the rain ended

in my friend’s back yard,

trees lay uprooted,

muddy floods of river water

swirled and swallowed

tangled branches.

I have to believe that birds

still sang from the tip-top

of whatever withstood the storm—

peaked roofs,

stubbornly strong trees,

a post, a pole,

a precariously tilted sign.

May the birds always sing

their ancient wisdom,

their song of courage,

comfort,

and hope.

-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 © 2024 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.

Having the Maybes

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I’m having the maybes today.

The longer I live,

the more maybes I have.

Maybe I will breathe easier.

Maybe my shoulders will

relax—

or my arms

or my hands,

maybe all three.

Maybe peace will come.

Maybe I’ll

be still

long enough to feel it,

know it,

catch it,

carry it within me.

Maybe I’ll get an insight—

or not.

Maybe I’ll never be

so arrogantly sure of myself

ever again.

Maybe my heart will

re-tune itself to hum

a richer, fuller

melody.

Maybe I’ll hear Life laughing

in delight

at me and my

maybes.

Is this wishful thinking?

Is it hope?

No matter.

Maybe my maybes will

come true.

-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 © 2024 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.

A Waterfall of Music

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I’ve heard it said that

often, when we think we’re

hungry,

we’re really just

thirsty.

On a walk this week,

I thought I was hungry for

talk radio,

hoping to find hope

somewhere in news and analysis.

But then,

sandwiched between

one segment and

the next,

came an interlude of music,

gentle piano,

a drifting melody.

I paused,

closed my eyes,

let liquid notes pour over me,

a waterfall,

a silver stream of serenity,

freshening, cooling,

full of hope.

As I opened my eyes,

I realized

I had not been hungry after all

but thirsty,

thirsty for the

soul full,

drenching,

quenching

grace

of

music.

-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 © 2024 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.

So Many Reasons

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The sky is crying today,

softly, slowly dripping tears down my windows.

And why wouldn’t it?

The world is rumbling, tumbling,

churning, turning,

so much hurt,

so much hate,

so many reasons to cry.

But past the teardrops on my window screen,

I can see two squirrels

skittering up the trunk of a pine tree,

its branches stretching high

brushing away the tears in the crying sky.

The two squirrels have made a runway

through the deep green maze of pines.

They scamper in stops and starts up and down.

On the way up, they carry bundles of fresh

spring leaves they’ve nibbled off the bushes below.

They’re building a nest near the tip-top

in a thicket of pine needles.

It’s almost invisible, a dark bulk

nestled between branches,

swaying in the breeze.

I assume squirrels do this every spring—

build their penthouse nests—

but this is the first time I’ve seen them

carrying greenery,

refurbishing their nursery.

I suppose they know what they’re doing,

trusting swaying pines

not to toss them out but to rock them,

not to crash but cradle them.

So I’m trusting those little squirrels

and the pine trees too.

I’m trusting the return of spring,

the bloom of dogwood,

the robin hopping along the porch rail.

Trees sway,

skies cry,

the world churns,

but we will gather fresh bundles of hope,

carry them along the mazes of our world,

jump the chasms,

bridge the gaps,

and build at the very top,

stretching high into the crying sky

to brush away the tears.

– 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 © 2024 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.

The In-Between Times

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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:

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

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

Open-Eyed and Full-Hearted

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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:

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

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

A Rather Large Keepsake

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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:

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

Waking to Snow

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

Flames of Spring Green

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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:

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.

Looking at Green

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“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:

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.

Could it Become a Symphony?

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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:

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.