absence vs presence

 

Winter Solstice '24

absence speaks to me this morning:

six weeks ago black bears were common on the land here,

gorging on acorns and walnuts,

and popping open any car door not prudently locked,

this morning slowly dawns in a dullness of light 

without my expectation of the real possibility 

of bears dropping by when I least expect it,

leaves have quit falling, the trees are bare,

gray like the leaden-heavy clouds above,

I feel absence today

as if the natural world is a frame,

empty till Spring will add back vibrant color,

rhododendron, hemlock, holly, laurel stand out

 and share a somber deepness with their green,

the moss draped over ground and rock also shares its color,

though their green has a lightness about it,

the stark gray pillars of the forest,

are more of line than fleshed-out shape,

still the frame before me softly fills with memories,

I see mama bear and two cubs a few weeks ago

walk resolutely up the bank before me 

after eating acorns in our yard,

the creek flows before me where we dipped in it, 

quickly, yesterday, and we got out fast,

I see the building of dams that hold memory better than water,

I grasp at future scenes that will play within this frame,

inside we cook a lot,

fighting withdrawal and sleep,

we celebrate with what we've saved for now,

sharing gifts and food to call up bounty,

 

the Sun pauses its retreat 

and slowly starts back toward the north,

despite long-term hope, loss shouts at me,

supported by the fact that the Sun never parts the clouds all this day,

light snow gifts the higher mountains nearby,

where the clouds rest on the higher slopes,

as if curtains behind which magic is being wrought,

or maybe just reality hidden,

the Winter Solstice preaches the power of absence,

so we both feel that loss

and celebrate the presence of family and friends,

good food to hold us all in its gifts,

the positive made more acute by what isn't here,

but anti-entropic, we get a call and the way opens

for family to join us here tomorrow,

even though this is a time of absence,

we appreciate the presence still possible.

by Henry H. Walker

December 21, ‘24

the Indigenous

 

I seek wisdom

where I like to meditate in the mountains faces east, and the creek,

the day again comes into being to bring light to the world

and the renewal of starting over, 

Indigenous people lived within an "I-Thou" reality

where the seasons and the cardinal points sang to them to teach them,

the new day born again to the East,

the finality of the old day flaring to the West,

foreshadowing each of our individual passings on,

the daunting challenge of that from the North,

the gentle comfort of that from the South

the cycles of bounty and of lack,

the rhythms of the year 

that gave humans rules by which to live

within a game we played but did not control,

the modern world works hard to insulate us from Nature,

it's good to be warm in the winter and cool in the summer,

to have fresh greens and fruit year-round,

it's also good to periodically open ourselves

to what the world knows

of what Nature can, and can't, do on its own,

and of how much we are still a part of a larger whole,

where every rock and every leaf has a lesson to teach us.

by Henry H. Walker

December 22, ‘24

the students still call to me

 

I let go, but not completely

as I move past my teaching years,

I still feel the call of a school's needs

to be there for every student,

I still remember teachers of mine who were there for me,

and thus who still are there for me,

I need them as my self-doubt rears up again and again

to confound my steps forward,

I find myself both ready 

to let go of being there for the students,

and to still missing being there,

I am self-centered enough

that I fear that no one might be there

for someone who needs bucking-up,

that my absence on the team for them might matter.

by Henry H. Walker

December 19, ‘24

time to "recherche"

 

finding lost time

an old friend comes by to visit,

a roommate we haven't see for over 50 years,

and Proust comes with him,

from Jeff we received an extraordinary dog, Eli,

a member of the family we and our children loved for years,

we call up names, people, experiences

that let us find again who we were,

the present, tomorrow, the past

can slap us into waking up,

not just to smell the roses

but also to feel the thorns,

we look back in search of lost time,

who we are now is also who we were then,

it is hard to stitch together

the rush of the present,

the upcoming drop into the unknown,

and the calls of the past,

how much better life is when we're not alone

and we find what can be lost.

by Henry H. Walker

December 16, ‘24

a unique path up the mountain

 

driven

I think the secret is to decide who we are

without a puppet-master pulling our strings,

perhaps the louder culture outside us 

who doesn't really know us,

I fear the metaphor where all of us are individuals at a buffet

where we choose whatever feels good to us at the moment,

I also worry about the metaphor that we are puppets,

that we should exist to be following the dictates of another,

that God's plan is for us to just do what the greater requires,

perhaps the metaphor should be that there is a mountain,

and our charge is to hike a path up

that makes the most sense to our full self,

that being "driven" is not as close to truth

as finding one's own way,

that our self-worth comes from how true to our gifts we are,

and that who we are can be not just "driven,"

but driving a unique path forward,

I don't know what my unique path forward is going to be in retirement,

I fear substituting different hoops to jump through

and somehow not quite walking up my own path up this mountain.

by Henry H. Walker

November 26, ‘24

Sunnybank, as a city on a hill

 

Elmer Hall 

many of us around Duke and Durham 

in the late 1960s and early 1970s

knew and appreciated Elmer Hall,

I worked with him in the Y.M.C.A.,

and I was clueless enough to hope 

to set him up with Nancy Richardson,

my wife appreciated visiting with him when she used 

the mimeograph in the basement of the Chapel

for what the Celestial Omnibus needed.

he gave his name and effort to support the Vigil 

in support of non-academic employees at Duke,

when weather turned bad,

Duke Chapel opened its doors for us to sleep inside,

I thank Elmer for that vision and support,

Duke Chapel had a heart when he worked there,

he and friends created the Somethyme Restaurant,

an experiment in community and food,

many of us felt he saw us truly,

or at least saw the best in us working to show itself,

Elmer was very present, and many of us,

in the brashness of our developing selves, 

appreciated how true to himself,

and how true to us, he was, how nice,

and also how solid,

for the last decades Elmer has lived in Hot Springs, N.C.,

creating and maintaining Sunnybank,

a temporary retreat for those advancing on the Appalachian Trail,

and a haven for others who just liked the place, and Elmer,

Hurricane Helene flooded the French Broad River

and wiped out the businesses who hugged its bank below his home,

Elmer's place high enough to endure,

it is a centering to be with Elmer,

his Sunnybank is as a city on a hill

and reminds us to see the best in ourselves and others,

and work to make it so,

despite the wreck that can come upon us

whether from our mistakes which might lead to a fierce storm,

or from an election that goes horribly wrong,

we sit in Elmer's living room and visit,

he still sees us true,

at least true to who we want to be,

I want him to realize how many of us he touched

are better for the moments with him,

I do not know you, Elmer, as much as I'd like,

but I feel I know you truly.

by Henry H. Walker

November 25, ‘24