a season change

Solstice ’11

Spring has one more day
before the years starts to die,
the Sun will start to slowly lower in the sky,
the day begin to shorten,
though it will be hard to notice,
what with all the feasts going on,

each leaf making its hay,
each insect eating its leaf and each other,
each flower & bird & bee using sex to further life,
flower to seed, to fruit, to nut,

bird to egg to fledgling,
and the black snake in our yard
waits for a bluebird baby breakfast,

the rainwashed air is clear
and the late afternoon Sun butter knifes through the woods
with a warm soft dapple to its revelations,

I’ve found a yellowjacket nest at the house I’l have to kill,
for these ferocious hunters brook no disturbance,

I get my camera and mark the rhododendron blossoms
who remind me that everything that lives has a jewel within it,
despite how easy it is to forget that truth,









the last full day of Spring wakes with a dark feel,
leaden clouds overheard and storms nearby,
while stars of rhododendron blossoms decorate the forest floor
as if to humor the changing season,










a lone wild turkey said “hello” to me yesterday,








and I hope for a visit from him or a bear today,
I’ve had to leave my camera out in the mid air for it to acclimate,
yesterday the lens fogged-up when I brought it out of the air-conditioning
and I couldn’t see the turkey through the obscuring foggy lens,
everything is watered and just waits for the drying Sun,

a cool breeze accompanies the fresh creek as the early day slowly lightens,
close to the stream the green of the rhododendron is shadowed dark,
while the leaves closer to the sky pale toward yellow in their shading,

all the leaves seem still as if in meditation,
preparing themselves for the longest day for catching and holding the light,

the hemlock are only shadows of themselves
and in their insect-plagued passing remind me
that inherent in the most optimistic of days
death still whispers its truth,

as breakfast is pulling itself together
I go to the stream with four creek-ready kids
who race back and forth to the house
and delight in exploring, wading, and throwing rocks into the racing water
sometimes at sticks they consider boats that need bombarding,
spontaneous projects pull them together
as each delights in what can be built by building upon the other’s enthusiasm,

something about the longest day pulls us high atop a grassy bald
with mountains arranged in numbing splendor around us,
the deep blue of the sky slowly forgets itself,
the Sun broils us and the grasses laugh back with flower and seed,

the young with us feel the openness and run,










on the way down we slip ito the trees
and a wet cool glade of ferns welcomes us,

back at the cabin the creek pulls us back to it,








the bear must be high now
for I’ve seen no sign of them deep in this valley,

the day dissolves into the dark
and thunder, wind, and rain welcome the changed season,

tonight the leaves no longer meditate but rather shake with the power.

by Henry Walker
June 21, ’11