Air with a Wild Side

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

A rainy morning,
a pottery mug,
steam rising, barely visible,
the aroma of toasty coffee.
I hold this cup of comfort,
admire the steam-drift
as liquid shape-shifts into cloud,
the aliveness of it
diffusing in a dance
undulating upward,
thinning until it vanishes
into the coolness of the room.
Even then its dance goes on,
for it’s the air around this fairy wisp
that directs the dance,
the always-moving air
that shifts it,
swirls it,
twirls it,
the same air with a wild side
that gusts and roars,
whirls and stirs
dust devils, hurricanes, tornadoes.
Through the window,
I watch today’s weather,
wind rocking branches,
scattering raindrops,
loosening autumn leaves,
and I realize it’s the wind I listen for,
the wind I want to feel,
the wind I want to befriend.
This morning it’s a tiny breath,
a whisper of breeze,
a hushed brush of wind
waltzing with the steam
that rises from my coffee
to calmly, quietly
start my day.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

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Late Afternoon in Tuscany

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

I’ve just returned from two wonderful weeks in Italy. So for a few weeks, my poems will bring you snippets of that trip.

The sun drifts slowly lower
in a lazy haze of clouds.
Soft, easy waves of wind
ruffle the leaves of the trees
and gently rock the tops
of tall, thin cypress,
the stately stewards of Tuscan hills.
Harvest is a few weeks away,
and the olive trees sparkle
as if they were edged in ice.
But that’s a trick of sun on silver leaves,
for it is still summer and fire hot,
by the calendar almost autumn
but not yet.
Ruddy tiled roofs angle here and there
down the hillside,
serene and sure of themselves,
watching over stone walls
with windows open-shuttered
to let in the easy breeze dancing
through open doors and arches,
up stone stairways,
across tiled floors,
cooling day-warmed bedrooms
waiting for sleepy heads,
kitchens waiting for cooks,
bathrooms waiting for bodies
to disrobe and yield to the kind,
cleansing rain of the shower.
Into one window and out another,
the wind journeys on
past tiled roofs,
over silver-green olives and stately cypress,
across a distant, evening-blue river
up sloping green hills
around darker, dimmer hills beyond
to a distant volcanic mountain on the horizon,
an ancient sacred site
now fading in a hush of blue.
Time seems to wait,
the moment unfolding in silence
interrupted only by the occasional buzz
of a passing fly
and the ruffled, muffled whisper
of a wandering wind
as the sun drifts slowly lower
and disappears
in a lazy haze of clouds.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

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Tide In, Tide Out

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

A pod of pelicans,
five in all,
flap low across the sandy beach,
following the flow of the whispering wind,
their long beaks pointing
like a compass arrow
to some destination they know
and I don’t.
Gentle waves from a deep blue horizon
ripple toward the shore,
split into broken lines of sea green,
sparkle in the hot sun,
and splash into soft white foam
on a white sand beach
that rises into a swoop of dunes
topped by tall sea grasses
overseen by the easy drift
of a lone dragonfly.
No rush say the waves
and the swaying seagrass.
No rush says the drifting dragonfly.
All in good time.
Sea and beach,
beach and sea,
speaking wisdom in the rush
and the hush
and the shush
of an age-old voice
twinned with the wind
in a pulse of purpose,
in a dance of chance,
tide in,
tide out,
a rhythm sure and steady—
as sure and steady as the flow
of meditation.
Deep breath in,
deep breath out,
tide and time are made of this.
We ebb out
to family, to friends, to the world,
then wash back up
onto the shore of ourselves,
sometimes storming in,
crashing, breaking, swamping,
sometimes gentling into a soft wash,
bubbling with contentment and hope,
pulsing with purpose,
dancing with chance,
we and the wind and the waves.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

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Text and photos © Karyn Henley 2026. All rights reserved.

Singing Into the Wind

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

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.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

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

Tiny Green Dragons

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

All summer, a line of tiny green dragons
has been slowly creeping
up the outer wall of my neighbor’s house.
Each dragon, from wing tip to wing tip,
is the width of my outspread hand
and is made of a collection of leaves.
Like a disciplined line of determined ants,
these small, leafy dragons
follow one after the other,
evenly spaced along a tightrope stem.
My mind traces their path
as if my fingers were drawing it—
the angles,
the curves,
the negative spaces,
the quiet climb,
the gentle stretch,
the touch of tendril to red brick
that heats in the sun
and chills in the cool night,
the cling that holds the vine tight
in wind and lashing rain.
A vine is persistently persistent,
tenaciously tenacious,
grasping at the next available surface,
in this case, iron bars of a spiral staircase.
The vine curls around the first bar,
the second,
the third,
follows its shape spiraling upward
to the second floor landing.
There it stops and celebrates this feat
by blooming into orange trumpets
all along the dragon-leaf path,
giving itself to butterflies
and hummingbirds
and me.
A gust of wind
and a scattering of leaves swirl down.
The vine simply shivers
and clings and blooms.
It will soon turn brown and brittle.
The little dragons will let go
and fly away with the wind.
I will witness this wonder,
keep a winter watch,
and wait for spring
when once again,
a line of tiny green dragons
will start their warm-weather journey
up the wall of my neighbor’s house.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, an carry the calm.

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Shadow of the week:

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What If You Were the Wind?

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

What if you were the wind
flowing ‘round the world
in a whirl of hot and cold,
bold enough to blow a house down,
then a day later,
shy of the sky,
whispery, shushing, hiding,
slyly slipping around trees.
What if you roared through mountain passes,
lapped at ocean waves,
played havoc with sand,
then ran out of gusts
to sigh and sway,
breezy,
sneezy,
tousling the grain in the field,
then nosing through a bubble wand
and tossing the bubble,
twirling and swirling it,
until it arced into a yard down the street.
What if you were that bubble
flickering soapy red and green and yellow
as you rolled on the breeze
and laughed at the neighbor who looked up
just as you floated by
dipping, bobbing, and pop!
What if you were the neighbor
who looked up just in time
to see the bubble pop,
and you stopped
to smile awhile.
Oh, but you are the wind,
the bubble,
the neighbor.
At least you were
for these past few minutes.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

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From the Scent of an Iris

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

I sniffed an iris today,
one of those big, bearded ones,
gold with a splash of red wine.
At my mailbox, I bent down,
touched my nose to
cool,
curved,
smooth,
silky petals,
and inhaled its heart-scent.
I knew what it held,
what it always holds—
my childhood,
at least part of it.
The fragrance sent me time-traveling
back to a long ago garden,
a wide triangle edged in gray cinder block
in a West Texas back yard.
The whole flower bed was filled
with irises,
the deep purple bearded kind,
filling the air with perfume.
The rushing wind,
always in a hurry to get somewhere,
made the irises dance.
And when the wind brought rain,
the drops drummed wild music
on the corrugated fiberglass porch roof
that covered the concrete patio where,
on sunnier days,
I sometimes twirled
in my sky blue parachute dress,
which I named for the way
the full skirt swirled when I twirled.
As I turn back to my mailbox,
I am awed and grateful
that this one iris
so gently holds me in its
cool,
curved,
smooth,
silky petals.
My memories are cradled
in the scent
of an iris.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

Shadow of the week:

A Bluebird Between Storms

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

Between storms,
the whipping wind calms
to an easy breeze
flicking rainwater off
the newborn leaves.
Mama bluebird flits to her birdhouse
with thin dried stems of grass
dangling
from her beak.
She pauses at the entrance,
the just-right-size hole,
glances around,
spies a robin at the birdbath.
Satisfied that he is busy drinking,
she ducks into her house,
reappears seconds later, empty-beaked,
and darts away.
Papa bluebird watches
at a distance
atop a light post
as the robin decides to perch
on the roof of the bluebirds’ house.
Mama bluebird flies back with more straw
but stops short,
resting on a garden ornament,
a shepherds’ crook,
wary of the robin,
this unwelcome visitor.
Papa bluebird casually glides closer
then dives at the robin,
who decides it’s best to be gone.
Mama bluebird flits in again and,
with a wink of blue from her tail,
disappears into her house.
Bluebird wisdom says
be patient
when someone needs to rest
atop your house,
but keep the boundaries clear,
for it is, indeed, your house,
and it is you who are building
your nesting place there.
It’s what we do
in the pause
between storms.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week—Mama bluebird peeking out:

Shadow of the week:

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Spring Storm Symphony

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

A river of storm-strong air,
cool and damp,
poured through my open window,
and swept across my bed,
a stream of fresh silver morning
filled with whispers of rain to come,
this news confirmed moments later
by the timpani of the heavens,
a deep-throated drumroll of thunder,
or as we used to say,
angels bowling
or God’s voice rumbling,
“I am here, I am near.”
Then in one delicious moment,
the innocent-looking layer of clouds
releases a world-class waterfall.
It’s a symphony of storm—
wind, thunder, rain—
in a rushing cascade,
a wet, splashing tumble of spring
with surprise guest artists
singing through the storm:
a chorus of birds.
Each time the rain and wind diminish,
the birds crescendo.
Their whistles, chirps, and chortles
sound like celebration,
like gratitude,
like sweet contentment,
like aren’t you glad to be right here,
right now,
refreshed
on this splendid silver morning?
Yes, beautiful symphony.
Yes.
I am.
– kh –

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

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Shadow of the week:

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At the Tail End of Winter

Posted by karynhenleyauthor

Joy is the crocus, who
does not wait for spring
but will push her way up
even through snow
to wake the world.
Fresh and new,
her purple peeks through
undaunted by chill wind,
bright in brown grass,
stretching up as if to say,
“See? Here I am!”
Or rather, “Here we are,”
for she brings sisters with her every year.
They rival the soon-to-come daffodils
and the Lenten roses
to be first to announce
the warm gladness of coming spring
even as the tail end of winter whips by.
Such small blooms,
they can come and go unnoticed.
But for those who watch
for early signs of spring,
the crocus is a generous grace.
She is hope.
She is faithful.
She is bold joy
on a cold day.
-kh-

Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.

Nature of the week:

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