Sitting here in my sunroom,
I watch the storm move in.
Daylight dims.
The sunroom becomes a room of shadows
as a vanguard of wind shushes the world,
scatters the leaves of hackberry and elm,
rocks the pines,
sways the autumn-bright marigolds
and the delicate, thin-stemmed coral bells,
which chime, I imagine, as they sway,
sweetly singing to ears keener than mine.
Soon they will settle into a quiet sleep,
for this storm brings our first bite of winter.
Already the wind carries a cold edge,
its tide rushing in, easing back,
rushing in again.
My cat creeps to the window,
peers out into the gusty gray,
ears pricked,
catching the chatter of birds,
the rumor of rain.
A cardinal’s steady chip-chip-chip
calmly tells us all is well,
this storm is simply the bluster of nature,
a power surge that will blow itself out,
leaving behind drips, drops, puddles,
and nippy whispers of winter.
Holy is this moment
on the charged edge of change.
I think of stepping out into the cooling air,
opening my arms wide,
looking to the sky,
and singing my own song into the wind,
into the wild
to ride its currents over the rooftops,
over the fields,
to the next town,
the next county,
the next mountain range,
on and on and out to sea,
birdsong, coral bell song, my song,
rippling out to the whole wide world.
The storm, the storm
is coming.
The storm, the storm
will blow itself out,
and we will be here,
singing our song into the sky.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

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Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2025. All rights reserved.