coming home to one's self
at the heart of human development,
each journey into figuring out the self
that is who we are,
that is who we are when we are true
to what is most us at the most basic,
we can then celebrate with this realization:
"I get to be the me who I've always been."
with thanks to Erin Linn's insights
by Henry H. Walker
April 21, ‘24
the challenge of the social
Who are we?
Covid slapped us in the face
and shut down way after way
through which we found ourselves, expressed ourselves,
released the larger "we" which is also us,
somehow through relationship with the other
we release who we are,
each of us is unique,
a self gifted with strengths and weaknesses,
we fear to be seen,
and we crave to be seen,
somehow we need to touch the other's soul,
and to be touched in return,
we each need validation that we are worth our salt,
that there's something special about us,
while we also need to realize that all are special,
it is hard for me to appreciate the ones
who find themselves in the coarse,
the outlandish, the too assertive,
I feel for those whose sense of self limits them
in how "out there" they can be,
the introvert, and the extrovert,
jockey for position within all of us,
we all contain multitudes,
and it's hard to tell whose turn
it should be, to be.
by Henry H. Walker
April 19, ‘24
today was of wildflowers,
the excessive winds of climate change
create havoc within the forests,
trails and roads suffer,
roads close yet we are still able to visit a favorite hollow,
there, early spring shouts with enthusiasm,
as our friends erupt from the soil
and reward our friendship with just being themselves:
yellow and white trillium assert color and form on the slopes,
fringed phacelia delicately carpet wherever they can,
hepatica, trout lily, miterwort, squirrel corn, sing themselves,
wild ginger quietly releases the cupped maroon flower of its glory,
three wild turkey visit this valley
at the same time as we do,
we stop to watch them,
and the male decides to display to us and to his two females,
the early sun backlights his tail feathers,
and I work hard to capture pictures
of such audacious, gratuitous revelation,
I wonder if he is actually showing off to me,
after our going up, across, and down this hollow,
we get back to our car and slip down the valley
in search of blood root, our favorite flower of the spring,
we check where we found some a few years ago,
at the foot of the valley where the Big Poplar thrilled us,
a few leaves, seeds, maybe a bud, but no blossoming blood root,
until we hike by the road on the way back to the car,
and two blood root reveal themselves with assertion,
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knowing and expressing the ephemeral reality
that this botanical royalty
shares so briefly and so elusively,
we cheer our luck.
by Henry H. Walker
March 27, ‘24
