the torrent of the present
how do we know what's worth the trouble to remember?
the question reminds me of standing under a torrent of waterfall in the Smokies,
my "now" a reality of cascading cold liquid upon my head,
and I am only in the moment,
that's almost how I feel living in the present
when so much cascades down upon me,
how can I notice what needs to be remembered?
I just visited with first cousins about their mother and father
who have passed away from our present,
I particularly remember the mother,
with every ounce of will available to her she loved her children,
cared for them, sang and played for them,
she saved everything she could,
including a box of string "too short to use,"
she filled countless boxes,
now lost to those of us who might find
what we belatedly want,
one of her sons describes their filling
every Goodwill donation box they could find with those boxes,
we are daunted and undone by the challenge of figuring out
what of the torrent upon us now should be remembered,
the present is a visitor who doesn't pause for us.
by Henry H. Walker
February 3, ‘26
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