wind

What the Wind Brought

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In my lap, the cat pricked her ears,
glanced over her shoulder
at the sound of a leading wave
of a sea of wind
splashing its way through the trees
in a gusty rush of chilled air,
a cold front—
or as we used to say in Texas,
a Blue Norther.
The cat sighed and cozied in
as if to say, “And so it starts.”
And so it did.
Bits of leaves and seeds
hit the window glass,
the wind chime sang,
the warm room turned cold,
drafty,
and the Blue Norther blew.
“Watch!” its breathy whisper whirled,
“Soon you will wake up to see
roofs powdered with frost.”
Years ago,
on one wall of Grandmother’s kitchen
there hung a picture of a red-cheeked elf
carefully torn from a magazine—
Jack Frost waving a twig wand
working his fairy magic.
Through spring,
through summer,
through autumn he waited there
until his own happy season rolled around,
and then he reigned.
So as the cat snuggled in
and I listened to wild waves of wind,
I knew that his season had come.
And sure enough—
as Grandmother would say—
sure enough the next morning,
when I looked out my cold-paned window,
I saw the world frosted icy white,
glittering in morning sunlight,
and I knew that during the night,
Jack Frost had passed by.

-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.

One Raucous Love Song

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When the crow calls,

my heart returns to Texas,

to the prairie where I grew up with

stubby mesquite trees,

prickly pear cactus,

crooked-limbed live oak,

swathes of yellow-green pastureland

rugged cattle,

a wide, wild sky holding

thunderheads miles high,

golden-orange-red sunsets

deepening into velvet-dark,

star studded night sky,

and wind,

always wind,

dry wind,

whistling through power lines,

whipping branches,

bowing grasses,

flapping skirts and shirts,

sweeping dust from here to

who-knows-where,

feathering the feathers of the crow

who is maybe related to

the one outside my open window

now carrying me back

hundreds of miles,

dozens of years

with one raucous

love-song of a

caw.

-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week (look closely and you’ll see a ladybug):

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 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.

Silenced by the Sea in the Wind

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On a windy day,

if I close my eyes and open my ears,

I live beside the sea,

though this sea is only waves of wind

surging and ebbing,

a rolling surf of air

swishing through pine needles,

washing over elm leaves,

splashing the fronds of bamboo.

It’s the nature of Nature

to echo herself,

the sea in the wind and the wind in the sea.

Or a bird that chirps like a yipping dog

(or perhaps it’s the dog who yips like the bird).

A leaf that echoes the shape of wings,

wings that echo the shape of feathers,

feathers that echo the shape of feelers

on a fancy, flamboyant moth.

Leaves that echo the scent of lemon

or pepper

or cat pee.

But it’s the sea in the sound of the wind

that silences me,

sparks my dreams,

carries me to distant shores,

to time outside of time.

I suspect that this present moment

is itself an echo

of eternity.

– 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 Magic of the Ordinary

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I would say it’s magical—

although it can be explained—

the way the pepper bush hides

within a pale, flat, round seed

snuggled in the warm dirt,

the way it wakes only when it’s ready,

the way it unfurls arrow-shaped leaves,

stretches thin arms to bask in sunshine,

flirts with wind,

revels in rain,

and smiles in small white blooms.

I know this can be explained,

but it seems magical,

the way those blooms shed petals

and take on pale green skin,

the way they curve and grow longer each day,

turning gold,

blushing orange,

deepening to red,

every day ripening

smooth, shiny, plump.

I pluck them free,

split them,

scoop out scores of seeds,

pale, flat, round,

magic,

for inside each

hides a pepper bush ready to emerge

when the time is right.

I dice these plump, ripe peppers,

stir-fry them,

taste their snappy sweetness,

and marvel at the goodness of the garden.

All of this can be explained,

I know.

But I say

it’s magical.

– kh –

 

Nurture peace, cultivate the seeds of 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.

Quiet Eyes

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I will look at cliffs and clouds

with quiet eyes,

watch the wind blow down the grass,

and the grass rise.

– Edna St. Vincent Millay –

Wishing you a calm, peaceful holiday weekend.

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.

In The Realm of Inner Peace

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In the realm of inner peace

of deep, cleansing breath,

of heart and hope and holiness

of the spirit’s table set for welcome,

in this realm of inner peace,

the weather is not constant

but ebbs and flows like waves of the sea,

like the drift and rush of wind,

unseen and elusive,

now whispering with joy,

now howling with grief,

weaving each together in a swirl

of uncertainty,

breathing life into our fragile frames,

humming wholeness into our startled hearts,

returning us to the settled sureness

of in-breath and out-breath,

the steady beat of life.

In the realm of inner peace,

of the momentous moment,

ordinary or extraordinary,

witty or wary,

of questions held gingerly,

answers held loosely,

in this realm of inner peace

two rivers flow,

one tumbling incautiously over stones

gray with pain,

one smooth and rippling,

easing its way with glints of courage,

fresh vision,

and quenching calm.

These two rivers often run side by side,

one splashing into the other

before joining and sharing their waters.

We dip cupped hands in and drink

and bathe our spirits in both.

We laugh.

We weep.

We find our own way through the rapids

and into pools of momentary stillness

before we journey on.

For this is the way,

the path,

the course of life.

There is no map.

But listen.

Listen to the wind.

Follow the flow of the two rivers.

For here in this realm,

there is inner peace,

and the table is always spread

for welcome.

– 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.

Silent Green Tongues and Blushing Petals

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The sun peeked out once today.

Clouds barely gave way,

then slipped back across her bright face.

“Our day,” they said.

And, truly, it was.

They cried,

softly, quietly,

leaving tears in droplets

on window screens,

on the silent green tongues of lily leaves,

on the blushing petals of Lenten roses.

The wind sighed.

“It will pass,” she said.

And, truly, it did,

for the clouds moved on

to weep somewhere else,

and the sun smiled.

– 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.

Winter Garden

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Before Spring dances in to stay, I offer one more tribute to Winter.

 

The winter garden is skeletal,

stripped to its bark-bones

and skinny stems.

Brown, brittle seed heads

of Black-eyed Susans shiver

at the wind’s cold whisper.

Tattered leaves

of frostbitten Citronella

droop,

dangle,

shudder,

tangle.

A chill gust whips

the dry rust-red cascade

of sleeping Creeping Jenny

into a wide awake, wild dance,

its fronds a frenzy

of airborne ribbons.

Branches of Crape Myrtle sway

like arms with curled fingers

offering pearled brown seed pods

to the winter-blue sky.

If it seems that I’m describing dreariness,

and dearth,

and death,

perhaps I am.

But I mean to paint a graceful picture,

artful wonders formed by frost

and darkness

and biting wind,

paring back the backyard world

to its simple glory,

its skeletal scaffolding,

the elemental beauty

of Nature’s underpainting,

a delicate design

visible only

in this

season.

– 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.

And Still They Come

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In dark silhouette,

a flock of birds

darts,

swift and low,

across a sky cloaked in clouds of gray

in shades that drift

and slowly shift,

now light,

now dark.

Wind, heavy with weather, quickens.

Air thickens.

Branches wag their fingers at the sky.

And still they come,

scores of birds,

arrows speeding,

reading the signs of the clouds,

believing the whine of the wind.

They look so sure of where they’re going.

Some inborn knowing of nature

sends them racing past the trees,

against the breeze.

Are they seeking shelter?

Outrunning the rain?

Or simply celebrating

wings and wind

and the miracle of uplift

on a fresh tide of air

as rain begins to fall.

– 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.