who Mother was, and is

Mother’s touch still lingers

twelve years have worked upon these woods, and upon me,

since Mother breathed her last breath here,

during the Great Fire a year ago,

the great beech up from us

finally gave up the ghost,

toppled and mostly burned,

a tree that was great when my mother was born,

the cabin still stands to manifest

Mother’s dream of the last homely house

before city disappears into forest,

a house to serve as door into nature,

a home built by love, maintained with love, shared with love,

centered around the kitchen, the dining room, the porch,

where shared food can hold family and friends as one,

like a mother can care for you and hold you,

so that you can be open to others and yourself,

and embrace the joy that can be inherent in the moment,

I am sad today that Mother is gone

and is no longer here to take care of me,

to make sure I have enough to eat, a place to sleep,

concerns that still drove her as Alzheimers pulled her away

from being able to touch the moment with words and actions:

she would still find her way back to check if someone visiting

had enough to eat, a place to sleep,

there is magic here at the Cabin,

hard by a dropping creek,

a creek which calls kids to play and lose themselves

in the transformation water, rock, sand, and youth,

make into a playground, a playground

which calls adults to follow the kids with their heart

and relax for a time, before obligation and work call them away,

Mother gave us everything she had, everything she was,

I am sad that we lost her,

I am joyous that she still lives in the Cabin

and in those of us she touched with her love.

by Henry H. Walker

December 7, ’17