leaves

I Spy

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I spy something green
and it starts with a T,
and you know (knowing me)
that it’s a tree,
a carefree tree,
for the carefree me
of childhood.
But that was then
and this is now.
I have spied so much anger, so much grief,
so much hurt
that sometimes I want to close my eyes
and spy
nothing at all.
Sometimes it seems as if the whole world
has gone mad
and squeezed the life out of life.
Maybe I care too much
to be carefree.
But then, even behind closed eyes,
I spy something green,
something growing,
and I return
to the childhood game—
with one change:
I spy…something beautiful.
For there is always beauty
of some kind, somewhere.
At this moment,
I spy beauty in a summer-full tree,
a billow of leaves
bowing in the breeze,
waving to three geese winging past
across an evening sky the color of wishes
and strawberry ice cream.
A firefly winks in the cool dark of a hedge.
I catch the scent of newly bloomed jasmine.
I spy beauty.
It’s a game I need
no matter where I am,
no matter what else I spy.
It’s a game I must play
with my whole heart.
Because in the end,
it’s not a game.
-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 © Karyn Henley 2025. All rights reserved.

A Silent Slant of Light

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In late afternoon, that quiet artist,
the sun,
pours her light at a slant
into my sunroom—
named for her, of course.
She brightens the window shades
to an eggshell white,
glows neon pink through the translucent
pads of the Christmas cactus,
sparks the tips of my cat’s fur,
gifting her with a silver halo.
Outdoors, she dapples the hackberry
with drifts of green,
lights the fiber between
thread-thin veins of fig leaves,
brightens the fountain of romaine leaves
growing in a raised bed,
edging them in white.
Across the deck, she throws shifting shadows,
creating an abstract of dark, thin stem lines,
grayed patches of leaf shade,
rounded shapes of poppy seed heads,
rippled forms of petunia, marigold, geranium.
I close my eyes and face her brilliance
as she eases lower in the sky.
Her parting kiss, warm and gentle,
paints a smooth, fire orange glow
on my closed eyelids.
The sun is wise.
She says, “Shine through where you can,
and where you can’t,
stun the world with the beauty
of the shadow.
-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 © Karyn Henley 2025. All rights reserved.

Why Not Love a Tree?

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It was a death, I realized,
the cutting down of the tulip poplar
taller than our two-story house.
Her broad scalloped leaves were still healthy,
her tulip-shaped blooms pale yellow-green
splashed with orange in the shape of hearts
that looked hand-painted
by some mischievous wood-sprite.
She still looked healthy, shady, perfect
except for her trunk
now leaning at an unnatural angle,
shoved askew by storm winds.
On one side, roots had pulled free
creating a lovely-looking cavern—
if you were a fairy
or a chipmunk.
But even the small cavern was not safe.
Each gust of wind
rocked its grassy root-thick roof
and threatened to fell the tree.
Where exactly would she fall?
Would she crash into the old hackberry?
Would it take her weight?
Break her fall?
Or would she end up in the driveway?
Would she clip the corner of the house?
And when?
Luckily, she stayed standing
until the tree surgeons came.
Unluckily, it was a death.
She had begun her life as a twig
carefully carried home from school
by my second-grade son on Arbor Day.
He chose her spot and planted her.
She was barely visible on the lawn
and was mowed down at least once.
Amazingly, she rooted herself and grew.
By the time my son left home,
she was a grand shade tree
a beautiful reminder
of a little boy
with big expectations.
Now, almost forty years later,
she is gone,
and I am grieving.
Part of me says she was just a tree.
Maybe I shouldn’t have loved her so much.
Then I think—why not love a tree?
Or a dahlia.
Or a yard full of violets.
Why not love a sunrise,
a sunset?
Why not let the heart break
at a beauty so generous,
so fragile.
Love feels loss,
but love never really loses.
-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 © Karyn Henley 2025. All rights reserved.

Lasting the Winter

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Walking back to my house
from my mailbox,
I always look up
to where treetops touch the sky.
Today, I paused to count nests—
seven in different trees—
tucked high in the elbows of bare branches.
I first noticed them when foliage thinned
and leaves fell last fall.
So far, they’ve survived winter winds
and downpours of ice-chilled rain.
I’ve read that most birds
don’t return to last season’s nest.
They build fresh ones.
But I wonder if these old nests
have been a refuge for birds
caught in a cold winter drizzle.
Each seems an obvious oasis,
an inviting island under a field of clouds.
Or stars.
Or a crisp blue frosty sky.
I will not know if the birds return
to these nests,
for the trees will soon leaf out again,
and the nests will be hidden.

I think of those of us who are nesting,
holding space for family,
for friends.
In breezy, balmy seasons of life,
we’re sheltered and hidden and full.
But when branches are bare
and icy winds howl,
when darkness comes early
and stays late,
it’s then that we can look around and see
that we’re not the only tender woven safe space.
All along, there’s been another nearby,
and another,
and another.
Stay safe, nests and nesters.
Hold life and love and hope.
Stay strong through the winter winds.
Spring will 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 © Karyn Henley 2025. All rights reserved.

Peace, They Insist

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A trio of peace lilies stands tall
at my back window.
Raindrop-shaped upper leaves
curve over pebbled flower stalks
like hands gently cupping a candle
to protect it from a draft.
I imagine these upper leaves
shielding these symbols of peace
from today’s blast of bad news,
war and destruction,
hunger and hurt,
clenched fists, bared teeth,
faces distorted with anger.
How can these flowers stand quietly
proclaiming peace, peace, peace
in such a time of tension?
And yet they do, and they have.
Year after year,
decade after decade,
in calm, in turbulence,
peace lilies have stood tall in our world.
Today’s sunlight drifts in,
glows through dark lower leaves
and light upper leaves
translucent as stained-glass windows.
Peace, the lilies insist,
sharing their ancient wisdom,
and I see that peace is many-layered.
I cannot wave a wand and win world peace.
I cannot change minds and hearts
of those who hold tight to hatred.
I cannot control the uncontrollable.
But the inner layer of peace
is heart deep.
I can cup my own flame,
maybe yours too.
Maybe we can shield each other
from the cutting wind.
Maybe we can be translucent,
let the light glow through us.
Maybe we can stand tall for peace.
It’s said that often,
in the wild,
peace lilies grow in colonies.
I will stand alone if I have to,
but I believe we are a colony.
I am looking beyond my back window.
I’m aiming to grow
and glow
peace
in the wild.
-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 © Karyn Henley 2024. 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.

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.

We Bring Things

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We bring things for our people—

armfuls of leaves and petals and stems.

We bring things for our people—

paints of red and daffodil yellow,

sea blue and forest green,

poems of peace

and questions for musing.

With outstretched hands,

we bring ourselves—

our seeking souls

our open hearts.

We bring things for our people,

and it’s like bringing the sunshine.

– kh –

I wrote this about being a facilitator/teacher at Art & Soul Nashville, a community of intuitive artmaking where I take classes and sometimes teach. Who are your people? What do you bring them? What do they bring you? In what communities or friendships do you find peace? Count yourself blessed.

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.

The Peace of Mid-Morning

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The clock ticks quietly

mid-morning

on this day that’s sunny

with a thin layer of clouds.

It’s warm enough for open windows.

A light breeze drifts in.

Outside it’s flicking leaves off the trees.

They tumble,

somersault,

land with soft clicks,

rattle to a stop and settle,

only to be scooped up

by a sudden gust

that skitters them,

scatters them,

tumbles them

into a pile against the fence.

The elm is speckled with the hangers-on,

the last to let go.

 Soon it will be empty

of leaves.

The clock ticks

quietly toward noon.

– 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 © 2022 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.

The Peace of Simply Sitting

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After lunch yesterday, I simply sat in my sunroom. I would say I sat in silence, but I was the silent one; the world around me kept humming, although quietly—a gentle tick of the clock, the soft breath of the air conditioner, muted chirps from birds outdoors, the distant rush of a jet crossing the sky. Sunlight turned the tops of the leaves outside a bright green, while deeper in and underneath, the leaves were a forest of dark shadow. A gentle breeze swayed their stems and led them in a slow dance. I was still and silent for only a moment, but that moment filled me with a sense of expanding serenity, and I returned to the tasks of the day refreshed and hopeful.

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.