from the core of the wildflower

the ephemeral of early spring

ephemerals:

a particularly poignant name

to call the wildflowers of early spring,

we seek them where memory and opportunity

whisper they might be,

and there they are:

fringed phacelia, 



like a young snow,

profusely carpet the understory 

of an old cove hardwood forest,

the ground peopled by

white trillium, geranium, trout lily,

anemone, miterwort, spring beauty,
squirrel corn,

Dutchman’s breeches, more,

up the valley ginger rules,

in its understated way,

the maroon cup of its three-pointed flower,

the gold below the green rainbow of its leaf,

all within what Southern Appalachian folks

call a “hollow,” 

an absence and a presence between ridges,

where the earth speaks with life,

instead of resistance to erosion,

the next day we quest after blood-root,

a favorite of ours, who hides herself

behind a brief flowering time,

and a persnickety need to not go 

too high on the mountain,

and there it is!

more bloom than we’ve ever seen together,

just by the road, all congregated as if at a service,

my cameras indulge themselves with glory revealed,

spring wildflowers are ephemeral,

and so are we and all our moments,

we can only hope to bloom with the wonder

that the phacelia and blood-root speak from their core.

by Henry H. Walker

April 5, ‘19

to bend the twig

good parenting

as I sit on a rise

above the tumbling creek,

just at the edge of where

pavement yields to trail,

a young family enters the woods before me,

they choose to follow the old path

down to the creek,

where they spend long minutes

enjoying exploring, throwing rocks into the creek,

the dad rock hops to the other side

and follows his own whims for a bit,

while the mom, baby on back,

enjoys the edge of the stream with her two daughters,

I notice a few rocks splash,

and I hope the magic works for them,

“as the twig is bent, so the limb’s inclined,” 

advises Alexander Pope,

these parents bend their kids 
to appreciate untamed nature,

as they walk away, 
they notice me 150 feet away,

I lightly wave at the dad,

he returns the wave,

then the mom does, too,

I appreciate them, and their parenting,

their kids are lucky.

by Henry H. Walker

April 5, ‘19

let us be ever new in our sameness

us, and a waterfall

falling water draws my soul,

like our lives, a tumbling stream

is ever new in its sameness,

our ears and eyes are tuned

to water over and upon rock,

every waterfall makes the world better,

in its beauty for those of us who see it,

and its gift of oxygen 

for fish and crayfish downstream,

may each of our lives do so well.

by Henry H. Walker

April 4, ‘19

ADHD: climate change?

how to care about what matters

difference attracts us,

and repels us,

we can get bored by familiarity,

and terrified by surprise,

I sit in the woods and wait,

I want to feel the gestalt of what is,

so that then I can notice a change,

I often hope for a bear to visit,

a pileated woodpecker to land nearby,

the wild turkeys to fly in or wander near,

that same alertness can ready me to notice a threat,

birds know the potential of their death

in every anxious swivel of their heads,

our progenitors must have, like the birds, known

that death could suddenly visit their world,

paranoia can keep us alive, or haunt our dreams,

a kid these days can be diagnosed with ADHD,

a hyper-active attention to everything around them,

however, we reward focus on the task before us,

and penalize those too alert 

to what’s outside the moment and the task,

how ironic that a generation that can need help dealing with ADHD

also notices the real threats to our future

that lurk just outside what we want to care about.

by Henry H. Walker

April 4, ‘19

it calls me home

The “Cabin on the Creek”

for my brothers and me,

home is first, and last, the “Cabin,”

it’s where we children spent our summers growing up,

where we, and our parents, had time for each other,

where land and rock, stream and forest,

were our friends before technology and screens

filed a void we didn’t know we had,

or maybe created a void in us,

after we had them, that only they can fill,

as both of my brothers slipped into their final days,

Cabin and parents called to them to come home,

my own psyche centers itself here,

the last homely home

before nature and mountain

swallow and expand the wanderer.

by Henry H. Walker

April 3, ‘19

as disciple to a master

Earth As Teacher

“Earth teach me. . .”

a recurrent call through a Native American prayer

I often use to direct and center me in the morning,

I want to be as disciple to the master

who was and is before I come to be:

the Earth of rock and water,

of the first life and the latest life,

of death and loss and new birth,

of sunrise and light on our paths,

of sunset and the fading out,

we hope in glory,

for years I have wandered the woods,

sat at the feet of great trees,

pondered the messages of flower and stream,

listened to the stories animals create with their lives,

I can love our human world,

and get lost in the wonders and disasters we unleash,

I contend that we need to take the time

to let Earth teach us what we need to know,

even though we don’t quite realize what we’re learning,

the way that all that is not human

is more the world than we are

I watch a hawk for 15 minutes as it waits,

high in an oak tree,

for a meal to appear below it, nothing spectacular,

I slow down enough to wait for a beaver to reappear,

and I appreciate subtlety in the slow turn of the stars.

by Henry H. Walker
March 31, ‘19

coming into herself

Rachel is 14

my granddaughters are coming fully into themselves,

now each is at the age I teach,

they are within the developmental range

within which I know 

many of the right currents and also the hidden shoals

tonight the young adult of 14 visits with me,

and I am struck by how well she moves

within the troubled waters of adolescence,

opening herself more to the empowering of possibility

than to the short-circuiting of anxious fear,

our society needs the power within such young

to release itself and help lead us away from the darknesses

the adults’ lack of courage and vision have visited upon us.

by Henry H. Walker

April 2, ‘19