memory

The Salty Spray of Memory

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Sometimes

all the wrong choices I’ve made

come at me like a returning tide.

With the force of a wall of water,

they hit me full in the face,

wave after

wave

threatening to drown me in

regret.

It’s all I can do to keep my footing

on this rocky beach

and let it wash over me.

For it will wash over—

I’m familiar enough with this

edge of the ocean

to know that much.

The tide that comes in will

recede,

and I will find that I am still standing,

God only knows how,

but

drenched,

I stand in the sunlight of grace,

drip dry,

breathe the salty spray of memory

deeply in,

deeply out

until my breath comes without

hitching.

Peace returns

with the hope that

as long as I am still standing,

still breathing,

then with grace,

with peace,

with love,

I can

sometimes

turn the tide.

-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 Gardener’s Optical Illusion

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A trick of morning light,

a slant of glass in a windowpane,

and I see a bevy of black-eyed Susans

where there are none.

The real golden, black-eyed blooms

bob on long stems to the south of my back door.

Their reflection sprawls across

the window-framed view to the west,

which happens to be the neighbor’s garage

and has never sprouted flowers.

Yet there it is

from my vantage point indoors,

an optical illusion,

a mirage,

a golden, pop-up garden,

a gift of sun and glass.

I wonder if a good memory is like that,

a reality, once tangible,

reflecting now from a window of the soul

so that, for a moment,

the mind’s eye sees a golden scene,

hears it,

smells it,

tastes it,

feels it

and knows it as a gift,

knows that this reflection is

no trick,

no mirage,

but is imprinted forever

on the pane of the heart.

-kh-

 

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

 

Nature of the week—my golden garden and its reflection:

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 Thread Connecting Us

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The silver SUV pulled out of the driveway

as my son and his young family headed

to the airport

after the holidays.

I don’t suppose they saw me

wave them out of sight.

I don’t suppose they knew my throat was thick,

my shoulders heavy,

my eyes blinking fast to block the tears.

I hadn’t meant to cry,

but my mind pulled up a years-ago memory

of a hot blue-sky Texas morning

when it was my young family

pulling away from Mom and Dad’s house,

and I looked back to see my dad

standing on the front porch

waving us out of sight.

At that moment, I instinctively knew

why—

why he watched,

why he waved,

why he waited

until he could no longer see us—

maybe longer, who knows?

He was holding the thread of connection

as long as he could,

Knowing it might be the last time he saw us.

It wasn’t—

not then.

He could not know,

nor could I,

that my sisters and I would be with him

for the last goodbye,

and that in my memory,

he is still on that front porch,

waving as the distance grows between us,

just as I wave to my children and grandchildren,

holding the thread of connection

as long as I can,

for they always leave

with a good part

of my heart.

 –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.