simple truths

 

the lay of the land

I am intrigued by what the lay of the land is,

what it says as to where to walk,

where a trail ought to be, then a road,

maybe where to sit awhile

and settle in to the world around you,

our place in the Smokies,

huddles next to a beautifully dropping stream,

the water so clear as to be transparent,

except where rocks froth it white for a bit

so that we are captivated by rapids and falls

which draw the eye and soothe the ear of the soul,

at our house here, two sides of the lot border the national park,

so that house and land domesticate our moments with comfort,

while our eyes and hearts are drawn to the wilding beyond,

this afternoon 8 wild turkeys pecked the ground just outside our door

and drew us out to marvel at their grace and purpose,

until they decided to move along, away from our presence,

so they crossed the creek where a month ago,

mother bear and her three budding adolescents

crossed after snacking on holly berries,

berries that downed tree trunks pulled low enough 

for them to be eaten,

trunks which allow relatively easy passing over the creek,

the turkeys in enough hurry to fly a bit,

a gift, I hope, to my camera, 

which worked to chronicle their passing flight 

and only managed to catch a hint of their open wings,

my mother often referred to the cabin as Grand Central Station

for all the coming and going under our roof,

a tribute to where we are and what we have wrought

with our dwelling as comfortable gate,

over a hundred years ago, 

a settler must have built house, barn, and tub mill here,

for the falling stream could readily be harnessed for grinding corn,

now we seek to harness the glory 

of the falling water and passing animals

to fuel our sense of wonder,

and to help us remember the great simple truths

that the lay of the land, water, and life,

reveal to any of us open enough

to see, to appreciate,

to let touch the soul within.

by Henry H. Walker

December 23, ‘20