centered in the Piedmont

 the piedmont calls

it’s my last afternoon of the summer here in the Smokies,

we hiked in the morning with the air so hot and humid

that the water flowed from our bodies,

and the air rejected it,

little to no evaporative cooling,

we chose a four mile hike

with about a mile of hard down

then even harder back up,

by late morning we were back at the cabin,

after savoring yellow-fringed orchid and a young bear,

early afternoon, a storm sat on us,

moderate rain while lightning flashed and thunder roared,

the creek comes up, only lightly brown,

since upstream is forest greedy for soil,

the Piedmont calls me:

our home, garden, plans, work,

usually I see a cardinal flower blooming about now,

the cherry on the top of the sundae of summer,

this year I found none yet blooming,

instead, I sit by the creek,

and I work to hear the voices calling me home,

I am already home, here,

yet here is a home I need to visit, not where I need to live,

I need the center where my wife and I have built a life

that is true to the best of who we are: 

our visits up here are wonderful,

still, we need the centering of the home we have built together.

by Henry H. Walker

August 6, ‘22