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