memories

Listen to the stillness—
nine writers writing,
thoughts full and circling
like wisps of colors.
Hands softly slide across paper,
catching muses mid-flight,
turning them into ink marks.
If I could see the thoughts,
I suspect some would have
jagged glass-shard edges,
while others would be
smooth as smoke.
Listen to the stillness.
Pens and pencils scratch,
soft and swirling,
sometimes hesitating,
sometimes racing
to keep captured words
from escaping.
Outdoors, the tide of traffic
ebbs and flows with a whispering whoosh.
Inside, we, too, ebb and flow
on a journey
through voices in our minds,
through memories
and wonderings
and questions
and answers—
though at least for me,
there are more questions than answers,
and every answer brings more questions.
Now a train rumbles past,
brakes squealing,
for we’re in a building by the train yard.
As the rumble fades,
quiet descends once more.
The rustle of a page turned,
a sniff,
a shift,
a soft scribble,
and the quiet of nine writers
writing.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

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There’s a sweet sadness,

a pure stream of blue

rippling with love and longing,

a catch in the heart,

a hitch in the breath,

hands open and empty

because of

love,

outstretched hands

palms up,

cradling sweet longing,

holding sweet space.

This is a knowing sadness,

a generous and gracious sadness,

a soft sadness,

full of memories of souls

who have flown,

a sadness relinquishing

what was never meant

to be held forever

but like a pillow

still holds the dips and curves

of one who has risen,

empty yet not empty,

traces of the one who is loved,

the sweet sadness

rippling in a pure stream of blue

that will always be.

-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

The Writing Class

A Pure Stream of Blue