Diana Henderson

The Song of Life

by

Excerpt from my book Archangel Book of Days: A Year of Daily Inspiration and Blessings:

“All of life has a song. Each star, planet, plant, mineral, animal, and human exudes a harmonic that is heard always by the angels and by Spirit. This great chorus resounds throughout the universe, yet the Creator knows and hears each single note, each soul, each life among the infinite multitude. In the deepest silence of your sacred heart, you may hear a quiet hum or a soft tune played as if far in the distance. The song of your soul calls to you. Listen today for its gentle calling and remember who you are.”
copyright © Lillian D. Henderson

Living Among the Trees

by

I’ve spent my entire life with trees in close proximity. In the 1980s, I lived on 20 acres filled with beauty. Trees surrounded me on all sides, and a creek meandered through the land. I recall a large moss-covered stone that would have made a perfect seat overlooking the brook. Of course, I never sat there. Something so old deserves respect. The forest held such peace. Grandfather Poplar was first born on that land, inspired by those trees and a crooked yellow poplar that lived among them. Poplars grow tall and straight, so a bent one stood out among the other trees. Almost two decades later I turned the story into a novel, as my writing teacher had suggested. I finally mustered the courage to publish it a decade after that. I invite you to read Grandfather Poplar if you haven’t. You may come to see trees as more than silent, stalwart plants and recognize the magic that lives in them and in us.

In Dark Times, Create.

by

We’re all creator beings in one way or another. We co-create our lives and constantly shape our reality. The choice we have is to do so consciously or unconsciously. We can place our focus and thus infuse our thoughts with what we dread or with a finer vision of beneficial, loving outcomes.

While I do my best to maintain an awareness of where I place my attention and direct my energy to what I seek rather than what I wish to be free of, I confess I don’t always succeed and sometimes end up steeping in sorrow or fear. I know from experience where the way out of that state lies.

When I feel depressed or worried about the future, I write. Leaning into my creativity shifts my mood. These days, I’m writing feverishly, seeking to create a better future through words and imagination.

Whether you’re reading or writing, books are indeed a powerful means by which to alter perceptions and change the world. As the tenth doctor (Doctor Who) once said, “You want weapons? We’re in a library. Books! Best weapons in the world!”

Today, I’m working on the second book in The Michael Saga: Learning to See in the Dark. With this series, truly with all my work, I’m writing the way out of these shadow times and into a reality where we rise into healing for ourselves and the planet. May it be so.

Place Memories

by

I was in my mid-20s when my parents decided to sell our family home. On the night before the sale was finalized, I slept there one last time, camping out on the floor of the living room. Memories flooded my mind then and still do all these years later every time I think of that place. Despite the decades between then and now, I can see it so clearly.

How many countless hours I stood in that kitchen, washing dishes and helping my mother cook. Each evening, we gathered around the kitchen counter or at the table listening to my father, who was the Matlock of attorneys, regale us about his courtroom antics. Conversation never lagged in our eat-in kitchen.

The built-in shelves surrounding the living room fireplace weren’t there in the beginning, but they seemed to belong so perfectly that it was hard to recall when that wall space was bare. Our house was a place of imagination and discovery because my parents loved to read. The chair by the fireplace next to the bookcase belonged to my father. How easily his visage returns, peering down into one of the books on history, art, or biography that lined those shelves.

The Christmas tree with its multi-colored lights and tinsel sat in front of the picture window with presents underneath. In my mind, I see the ghosts of our childhood selves rushing down the stairs across from that window every Christmas morning.

Thanks to the piano and our stereo console, the walls of that living room reverberated with the music of many eras: the standards of my parents, the early rock’n’roll of my older siblings, folk songs and ballads, hymns, harmonies, and classics.

My oldest sister’s dates, tall and handsome high school boys, sat in that living room as she came downstairs. One of them used to lift me up to the ceiling when I was three or four, and I squealed with delight. Susie was the prettiest girl at Rankin High School, and she radiated warmth. When she married, she moved next door, so that became my favorite place to visit.

My parents’ bedroom held visions of my mother getting ready for church, rummaging through her jewelry box, picking out a dress from the closet. I remembered the feeling of safety when I crawled into Daddy’s lap in his chair by the window. And there’s little me sifting through the top drawer of the dresser in search of the Luden’s cherry cough drops my daddy always kept there.

How many times my sister Susie washed my hair in the tub of the downstairs bathroom. She was a teenager when I was a toddler, but she doted on me, even enlisting me at age four to be the mascot for her graduating class and then the flower girl at her wedding.

We spent nights in front of the television in our den, sitting on a red plaid couch or on the floor. When I was very young, an episode of “The Adventures of Superman” upset me so much that my mother had to usher me out of the room. Much later, Herman Jr., the baby squirrel we saved, loved to bury nuts in that sofa and dart up the curtains just behind it.

I could go on at length about the memories tied to that house, that land, the old oaks, the forest, flowers, brook, all of it. I’ve lived in the home my husband and I built for over 30 years, but the house of my childhood is always “home” in my dreams.

No one else in my family may have understood my attachment to that place or the reason I wept so much when I had to say goodbye to it. But I always knew our memories lived in those walls and in the earth where we grew and played. This was the place where I was shaped, fashioned into the woman and the writer I would become. Those trees, that hillside behind the forest with the little stream at its base, breathed stories into my being. That house, the old chicken coop, the crumbling pigpen from years past where we kept a salt lick for the deer, the massive milky quartz that jutted out from the ground in the backyard, the two-story barn where we played and explored—these were a part of me and so hard to let go.

And I knew that our house would remember us. Every footfall, each moment of laughter and tears, every emotion we ever felt would remain. That place would forever hold an imprint of our former selves. We left behind countless trails of light where our souls touched each other in that home and on that land. The people we once were echo through those walls and along those pathways through the forest. It will ever be the place my psyche remembers as home.

Pantser or Outliner?

by

Do you know what a “pantser” is? It’s an author who writes by the seat of their pants, meaning without detailed outlines. I’ve always been a pantser. Going in, the basic plot lives in my mind, and I have a strong sense of the main characters, but I allow my intuition and creativity to guide the unfolding story. Sometimes that involves surprising turns. Recently, a new character arose with an enticing plot point that shifted my direction and expanded my vision for the novel. I’m so excited to be writing this new aspect of the story. Welcome to The Michael Saga, Kamalani! This photo (purchased from iStock) looks a lot like how I imagine him. He’s a singer-songwriter and musician from Hawaii whose voice awakens listeners to the truth of their souls!

Some famous pantsers include Stephen King, Diana Gabaldon, George R.R. Martin, Margaret Atwood, Douglas Adams, Isaac Asimov, Ernest Hemingway, and Mark Twain.

Christmas in July?

by

This short story from The Michael Saga, “Star of Hope,” offers respite from the chaos and despair of the daily news. Michael Browne and Melody Childress, two of 144,000 incarnated angels, find themselves in the midst of a world filled with turmoil and despair. The year after they find each other, as Christmas approaches, Michael and Melody ache to fulfill their mission and restore peace and hope to humanity. They reach out to their leaders, Archangels Metatron and Michael, and work together to shift the world.

If you need to feel uplifted in any season of the year, this story may help! I chose to write a story free from conflict. While the characters refer to the troubles in the world, the story focuses entirely on rising beyond fear and restoring hope.

Full description of The Michael Saga:

The Michael Saga tells the story of angels who have incarnated on Earth in order to bring healing and enlightenment to the world. They descend into matter without the gift of remembering their origins in order to experience life from a truly human perspective. Their arrival in the world of form is arranged to ensure that each of them will have reached adulthood by the time they are most needed. Early in the first book of the series, 20-something Michael Browne and Melody Childress, emissaries from the orders of Archangels Michael and Metatron, begin the journey of recalling and reawakening to their assignments. When they find each other, an immediate sense of recognition and connection leads them to discover together the gifts and the costs of being incarnated angels.

The first book in the series, Gathering of Angels, brings together the 12 leaders of the 144,000 incarnated angels with their mentors, the 12 archangels, atop Glastonbury Tor in the darkest time of the year. Once the 12 find one another, their true work begins: saving the planet and renewing the plan of light for all life.

As the series progresses, readers will come to know all 12 of these leaders among the angels born to Earth as well as the 12 archangels who watch over them. Each incarnated angel experiences awakening, challenges, and loss, and all are transformed on the human level by the path they must walk. As the shadows gather around the world, seeking to diminish the light and forestall the period of enlightenment and grace that could result from the service of these incarnated angels and their heavenly counterparts, all 144,000 will need to rise into service and live the light to its utmost.

These angelic beings embarked on this mission will full awareness of the difficulties they would face when the moment arose that they must heed the call to service. Yet life appears considerably easier while in the octaves of light than it does once in the earthly realm in the midst of all the chaos, emotion, and dissonance. Now, as humans, these incarnated angels must discover the means for living divinely and create the blueprint for others to do the same. Will they be able to rise into their gifts, align with their deepest truths, and illuminate a world seemingly lost in shadow? Join Michael, Melody, Yas, Alistair, Anaishe, and the others as they learn to see in the darkness, to rise above its pull, and reach the state needed to invite all humanity to claim their birthright of love, freedom, peace, and illumined consciousness.

As they learn to become more fully the beings of light they are while maintaining their human aspect, many angelic gifts will unfold. For readers who embrace this journey profoundly, the books in the series may serve as a means to regain buried wisdom, to embrace a deeper understanding of the angelic realm, to unlock esoteric truths, and to awaken hidden pathways to a higher reality. Through the experiences of these characters, readers may find paths to healing and to enhanced connection to the angels.

Imagine you are an angel who is offered the great duty and honor of incarnating on Earth, but you are told you have to release all knowledge of your life beyond the physical world in order to evolve as a human. You accept this assignment knowing you will have help. A full legion of 144,000 is born into the world of form along with you, and all of you must drink from the fountain of forgetfulness. The leaders of your kindred of light, all the archangels of the 12 tribes of Creation, watch over you as you learn to be human. But one day, when the time is right, you must remember what it means to be divine. And you must share that understanding with all the world.

Diana’s Books

by

Do you believe that worlds exist beyond this one? Do you long to step into another realm, to experience another perspective? If so, you’re welcome here.

The novels of Diana Henderson focus on a reality that lies just outside our own—a world in which humans can communicate with trees, nature beings, spirit guides, and angels. Characters often stumble into the mysteries of the hidden realms in these books. In Grandfather Poplar, the title tree speaks to Melissa to get her to stop annoying him. In The Michael Saga, the world awakens because of a persistent sound, but for a few brave incarnated angels, that resonance is a call to service and a trigger to begin their mission.

The characters in these books walk between the worlds. As they learn, dear reader, you are invited to discover as well and to awaken the truths that lie hidden deep within your own soul. 

Archangel Book of Days: A Year of Daily Inspiration and Blessings is a nonfiction, inspirational book is now available in both e-book and paperback on Amazon and through other online booksellers. The e-book version contains a bonus of 15 pieces of Diana’s ascension art.

May Our Hearts Heal

by

Excerpt from Grandfather Poplar by Diana Henderson:

“Tears merged with the raindrops that streamed down her face. In her mind she had a vision of being wrapped in a grandfather’s arms, both of them weeping for something precious that was lost forever. She heard the weary cry of Redtail high above, his shrill and plaintive shriek signaling the need for nourishment and shelter from the sheets of rain, or perhaps he sensed their silent vigil and honored their grief with his own voice.”
©️ copyright 2005 Lillian D. Henderson

Saying Goodbye

by

It’s been a tough year for us. My nephew died suddenly in February, and my eldest sister, Susan, died in May. We shared a lifetime of precious moments. This poem is for my beloved sister whom I’ll remember and love all my days.

Bring the Rain

by

As of mid-April 2026, 82 counties in North Carolina are classified as severe drought. I invite anyone who is willing to meditate with my rain bringer art and pray, intend, and/or envision rain in our area and all others in need of assistance.

To My Dear Nephew Steven

by

This is a particularly sad poem. As I mourn the passing of my nephew, these days find me steeped in sorrow that needs expression. Sometimes writing or creating art allows sadness to dissipate and helps us transmute what otherwise might overwhelm the psyche.

Let us remember love’s refrain
Echoing time and time again
Walk with me in the pouring rain
Until we wash away all the pain
Let go the dreams that have been slain
Cleansing the tears and bloody stains
Suture the sorrow’s open veins
Releasing aches that yet remain
Both the sublime and the profane
Walk in the sunlight free of chains

—Diana Henderson
© 2026 Lillian D. Henderson

The Song Remains the Same

by

A song can always take you back to days long past, evoking old joy or sorrow. Today, for a short span, I was drawn back to 50 years ago and the last time I saw my first love. I can still envision him standing there on the corner of Bessemer Avenue and Church Street, his long honey blond hair hanging loose below his shoulders. I have no photos of him or of us. Those are lost to time. Not even his sister has one. The evidence of his life is long gone. But every now and then, a faded memory pops into my mind, a postcard from times that will never come again, and I see his face, those Cherokee cheekbones and Irish eyes. And all of it floods back to me, every particle of our overwhelming love, our mad youth, two wanderers clinging to each other for life. He was only 21 when he was murdered, shot in the heart. It was all so long ago. But at least his sister and I remember. His brothers are gone from this world too. But I believe the traces remain. The walls and floor of that little white house where we once lived all those decades ago surely hold the ghosts of him and me echoing through time.

A Plea to Save the Forests

by

The following is an excerpt from Grandfather Poplar. In an effort to save her favorite forest, main character Melissa writes to the county commissioners. This is a passage from her letter.

© copyright 2005 Lillian D. Henderson

Playing alone, many times I was the only human witness to the forest wonders: flying squirrels leaping from limb to limb, opossums carrying their babies on their bellies, young wrens taking their first flights, deer pausing to drink at the stream in early morning, the water flowing slowly as it glinted with sunlight amid the reflections of the trees. I’ve seen rainbows kiss the treetops and sunsets blazing through the forest in fiery hues. I’ve looked on as countless butterflies danced together in the summer. I’ve watched falling leaves in autumn glowing brightly beneath the waning sun as they spiraled to the forest floor, sprouting blossoms in the spring and summer that scented the air with sweetness, tendrils of sunlit spider webs fluttering in the wind, robins pecking the ground for juicy grub worms, hawks gliding high in search of prey. I’ve seen what seemed like a thousand starlings descend upon the trees and then suddenly ascend at once, murmuring against a cloudless sky. Once when I was younger, a red fox walking upwind from me came within five feet before he caught my scent and stood stunned and motionless for just a second before high-tailing it in the other direction.

I remember the time before Christmas when I was eight. My daddy took us out in the woods to cut down a small cedar. But he finally changed his mind because I cried and pleaded the whole way, begging him relentlessly not to kill one of my tree friends. That’s how I feel about them, you see. They are my friends—every tree, every animal, every rock, every insect and arachnid (except maybe mosquitoes and ticks), every fern, mushroom, or weed in those woods. Just like I’ve witnessed the quiet miracles of nature there, they’ve looked on as I grew and became the person I am now. They’ve stood beside me while I argued with my brother, while I cried about something someone said or did to me, while I complained about school or chores. They’ve inspired me, supported me, listened to me, shaded me in the heat and sheltered me in the rain.

Melissa’s feelings about trees and forests express my own. I have lived alongside trees all my life and have loved them always. Please join me in caring for the trees and saving the forests. Contact government officials and implore them to save our national forests and to maintain the Roadless Rule that keeps the wild places from harm (if already rescinded, please contact to reinstitute it). Without the trees, humans will not survive for long. The forests are this planet’s lungs. We need them to live.

The Magic of Forests

by

Something happens when I stand beneath the trees in our wee forest here on the land. The poplars, pines, sweetgums, and other trees emit an energy that literally soothes the senses. I shift from whatever state of mind I’m experiencing into one of serenity. Peace washes over me. The magic of the forest comforts me and aligns me with the truth of my heart. It happens every time.

I know many people love the ocean for this same wondrous capacity, but for me the forest always beckons and never disappoints. Perhaps my kinship with the trees makes this especially noticeable for me. I only know I feel more in harmony beneath the canopy of trees than anywhere else in the world.

In my 68th spring upon this good earth, I still feel wonder at the beauty around me and grace among the trees.

Nature Spirits: Join the Dance

by
Dance beneath the faerie tree where all innocent hearts may hear the tune.

As a little lass, I spent countless hours singing, dancing, and playing with the faeries, communing with the spirits of trees and rocks, and feeling connected to the earth, air, and water elementals. Everything in nature was magical to me, and, oddly enough, I too carried a kind of magic that fascinated the nature beings. The faeries loved my rhymes and the musical sound of my voice, so, with all the joy of my innocent heart, I sang to them. Often, we made up tunes together, for every nature spirit delights in the art of creation, and there is no finer act of joy than to bring to life a melody along with rhyming lyrics. How they giggled and sparkled as we lifted our voices in song.

Does this seem fanciful to you—perhaps even a bit loony? When I was a child, I was often told I had a most vivid imagination, which was true enough to be sure, but to me these worlds into which I escaped among the woodland creatures were my haven and my higher reality. I still feel the same.

If you long to cavort with the nature spirits, here’s some advice from my inner child, who still thrives in my heart even at the age of 65.

  1. Open your heart and mind to the possibility of magic. Connect to your inner child through play and welcome the sense of wonder a young child experiences when exploring the terrain of a world that is still new. For some, this will seem quite natural. You are the ones who, like me, never left behind the gift of childlike curiosity. For others, this may take more work or rather more play! Try swinging on the swings at the park, playing in a pile of autumn leaves, plunging your feet into puddles on purpose, twirling with arms extended, lying on the grass and watching the shapes of clouds, or skipping down the sidewalk. Finger paint. Daydream. Create rhymes and ditties. Try being silly and making foolish faces at yourself in the mirror. Cultivate a bit of whimsy every day. Give yourself praise every time you manage to embrace these childhood joys. When your inner child feels nourished in the art of play, you are ready to approach the faeries.
  2. Find your faerie places in the world of nature. Perhaps these are spots where local legends about wee folk date back for countless years, but these aren’t the only locations to seek the faeries. If there’s a place in nature where you often feel daydreamy, where you seem to “zone out” or lose your sense of locality, there may well be faeries or other nature spirits present. When you let the universe know you want to spend time with the faeries, you will likely find yourself drawn to particular areas—perhaps a meadow you’ve passed a hundred times and always wanted to lie down among the tall grasses and wildflowers or a forest that is off the beaten path or a secluded pond or lake. A spot where you can spend time by yourself without other human interaction is ideal.
  3. What to take with you: a kind heart filled with love, a curious and open mind, a musical instrument (if you play one) or some wind chimes (faeries love the lilting notes), an offering for the nature spirits (a bit of cornmeal or oats, a few nuts, some seeds for planting, something with a lovely shine like a crystal or silver chain, etc.), and your creativity and imagination.
  4. Once you arrive at the forest, field, or lakeside, let your feet, not your head, guide you to the right spot. Take off your shoes and feel the earth beneath you. Sense the support the earth always gives you. When you feel it’s time to plant yourself, sit on the ground, against a tree, or wherever you feel most comfortable.
  5. Begin by connecting to the Earth, both the soil and the consciousness of the planet (Mother Earth). Feel and express your gratitude for all the bounty, beauty, and blessings Mother Earth offers you.
  6. Expand love, the light of your own heart, into the space around you. Imagine you are held inside a bubble of love from your heart. (It may be emerald green or pink if that feels right.) The more love you can muster, the more likely you will attract the nature spirits to you.
  7. As you breathe, imagine you are drawing in the loving light of the cosmos and breathing it out into the space around you and into the earth below you.
  8. Set your intentions to welcome communication with the nature spirits, the faeries, tree spirits, elemental beings (gnomes, undines, etc.). Invite them to visit you. This is different from “invoking,” which is more commanding. Imagine you are inviting friends for a visit to sit down and chat with you after a long absence from one another’s lives.
  9. Begin to hum, chant, tone, or sing. Even those who can’t carry a tune can intone or chant. If you have the aptitude to create rhymes or tunes, try writing a poem and/or a song among the world of nature. This activity will call the faeries to you better than just about anything. They will happily inspire your words and/or song if you let them.
  10. Another possibility for engaging the nature spirits is freeform dancing. Give in to the rhythm of the forest or field. Each place has its rhythm. Let the spirits of nature around you guide your footsteps and movements. If you feel like laughing at the prospect, please do! Laughter is its own special music, and faeries love the sound of it and want to join in.
  11. If you haven’t yet sensed the faeries at this point, you may simply need to cultivate your inner senses (intuition) more. Instead of giving up, try using “make believe” as a child would do. Children don’t always see or hear the nature spirits, but they often can sense them and connect to them through imagination. Pretend you can hear them. Imagine what they are saying to you. In your mind’s eye, envision what they look like. Imagination and intuition are a mere hair’s breath apart from one another, so what you imagine is likely being fed by your intuitive self.
  12. Use deep breathing to slow the mind and declutter the thoughts. I cannot explain here how to “go into the Silence,” but that is the best way to meet the fae. The Silence is the place where all things become possible and all realms exist simultaneously. Practice getting into theta brainwave state or diving into the stillness within the sacred heart. There you will find worlds without end and a laughing, dancing, singing child who once was you (or at least the dream you carried within your childhood self if your life was too hard to experience such joys). That wise and wonder-filled child waits for you in the realm of imaginings, ready to run with the wee folk and frolic with the faeries.

I hope these suggestions help you connect to that eternal child of light you are and to the hidden realms that lie just outside the periphery of your vision. Remember to embrace the love and light you are!

Diana’s poem to call the faeries

Unwelcome Dream

by

I awakened today weeping. My chest heaved from sobs that brought me out of the dream.

When I was a child, I had a favorite hickory tree whom I often climbed. Although her lowest limbs were a good six feet off the ground, I managed to shinny up so I could hang upside down from those sturdy branches. This jovial tree never seemed to mind that she was my personal monkey bars. In my dream, this tree had grown tall and mighty, but her life was being threatened. Many of my other childhood tree friends were already gone in the dream.

I climbed high in her branches, chained myself to her, and began to shout to those who waited to take her life that I would not let them. I pleaded with them as a crowd of neighbors gathered, and soon someone called the news station. As I spoke passionately to the people there, I could not hold back the tears. I began to sob uncontrollably. This yanked me out of the dream, my chest still heaving as I held my hand over my heart.

The trees of the world are crying out to us as surely as the ones who wept as our neighbors cleared the land all those years ago when I was overwhelmed with the understanding that I had to write Grandfather Poplar (see blog at https://grandfatherpoplar.com/2015/12/08/65/). It’s time to save our friends who offer us so much. 💚🌳🌲

Grandfather Poplar, the novel, is available on Amazon at http://bit.ly/GrandfatherP.

Memories at Dusk

by

My favorite part of summer days was always dusk. As a kid that time meant our work in the garden followed by stringing beans and shucking corn was well behind us, our bellies were full of the food we farmed, and we could sit on PawPaw and MawMaw’s back porch listening to the katydids and crickets calling to each other as the sun set behind the forest I so loved. On lucky evenings, a cooling breeze wandered among the flora touching our skin with its soothing notes of scented jasmine, and the air dripped sweetness into the song of the oncoming night. Our walk this evening echoed with memories of what once was as we let the stillness of the moonlight wash over our psyches and embraced the passing of another day. ~ Diana Henderson