silhouette

(Today we have snow. Tomorrow ice. But a couple of days ago…)

A sweet sparrow-song wakes me this morning,
a tumble of bell-tones,
a liquid waterfall of notes
echoed somewhere in the distance
by a fellow sparrow singing in answer,
“Good morning, good morning.”
And what a gentle good morning it is.
A feather-soft cloud of fog
has silently settled
on us,
with us,
around us.
Nature has drawn a shawl of whispery mist
across her shoulders,
turning stoic trees into
shy, wispy silhouettes
barely visible through the veil of silver-white.
The rays of the rising sun scatter
through droplets of drifting cloud,
spreading a soft glow
that gradually brightens and lightens,
easing the silver of dawn into
a golden pink, cloud-hugged morning.
The sunlight is insistent,
though today it has to swim in,
but little by little, trees become more distinct.
Roofs emerge.
Just as quietly as it descended,
the fog lifts.
Nature sheds her shawl.
Still and soft,
the day opens.
A sweet sparrow-song,
a tumble of bell-tones,
liquid waterfall of notes
echoes somewhere in the distance.
-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.

From where I sit in my after-dinner chair
as sunset dims into twilight,
I can watch airplanes approach
the end of their journey
from the west—
from Dallas
or Denver
or Los Angeles.
Their bright landing lights
cross the darkening sky,
winking in and out of sight
as they thread their way
among silhouettes of tree branches.
By the time one plane
passes overhead with a low hum,
another appears in the distance,
trailing the path of the first one.
Another plane follows.
And another.
Evenly spaced,
they glide smoothly on
like wandering stars.
When I first noticed them,
I thought they truly were stars.
But these stars that are not stars
are full of people
hurtling across the heavens.
These planes I watch,
these travelers
near the end of their journey,
are at the beginning as well.
For what is the end of the journey
but an arrival,
sometimes to a new place,
sometimes home to familiar comforts.
And I wonder:
When I get to the end
of that larger,
longer
journey,
will anyone be watching?
Will I appear as a bright star
slipping through
the night sky,
coming closer and closer?
I have a feeling that for me,
it will feel like coming home.

-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

Fog

Arrivals