Summer Solstice 22

 

Summer Solstice ‘22

before the Sun starts to suffuse the air,

a near quarter Moon spotlights high clouds racing southeast,

and then blinds are drawn and the sky is a gray wash,

as if morning doesn’t want to be awakened,

a clean imperative tone from the wind chime

softly brings sounds back into the world,

frogs and insects background the morning,

maybe scurrying squirrels make sounds I can’t quite figure,

shapes slowly emerge to the eye,

the first birds awake and remember their voice,

meditation over, so back into the house,

this day of puttering, arranging and rearranging,

planting Kentucky Wonder pole beans

where the sugar snap peas had just given up the ghost,

more picking in the garden: 

green beans, yellow cherry tomatoes, blueberries,

we discover that the new car we want recedes in possibility,

we realize a Hyundai plug-in hybrid 

is not even sold in North Carolina,

or in any neighboring state,

arcane rules prohibit their sale, save in eleven states,

not where the Old Confederacy was, or the Plains,

or the Bible Belt, are.

many of the most energy-conscious vehicles 

denied to us here in the South,

the dance of Sun and Earth. constant,

the Light rules today,

a day with the shortest Night,

on the TV darkness revealed in a Congressional hearing,

chronicling the actions of those who worship an idol,

all seemingly determined to wreck democracy,

this day is of the Light,

too many of our souls choose the Dark instead.

by Henry H. Walker

June 21, ‘22

finding oneself with the mountain

 

the mountain, Walisiyi, and I

I have found myself at the foot of this mountain,

and then at its top and within the slopes in between,

who I am contains multitudes 

and I savor the part of me who is of the mountain,

who knows the geology, the botany, the history,

the reality of stream and flower that dances upon its bulk,

the vistas revealed along its trails 

and from its long east-west top ridge,

where sunset and then sunrise work upon my soul,

and remind me that my sun will go down, too,

and that every day opens with a reminder 

to let there be light upon my path,

to remember the promise of each new day,

the openness to start anew when needed,

my sun has not yet gone down,

yet my body is increasingly challenged

by the miles of pulling itself up the steepness

and navigating the effort of the way down,

once again this year my wife and I 

embraced the effort of the mountain,

enjoyed sunset and sunrise

and the camaraderie of family and friends on the top,

the mountain is greater than I am,

but I love to walk in its beauty,

to share its greatness as we hike upon it,

its beauty imbues me with the spirit 

I want to celebrate with my life.

by Henry H. Walker

June 12, ‘22