of Mt. LeConte 34 years ago

 

Veils Part

A rocky overlook called Myrtle Point

At the east end of a smoky mountain named LeConte,

I sit alone as day breaks

Inside a blanket of grey fog

The world soft and warm and closed around me

The covers pulled up so I can't see

Sky or vista or valleys or colors of the rising sun,

I pull into myself and find the way out

To loving this moment, this place for what it is

Not for what I want it to be,

I quake with peace and do not begrudge the mist its day,

I seethe with joy and seek to appreciate the moment

For all that it is worth

For we humans can never know how long

Our moments on Earth will last,

The wind picks up to a rushing roar, taking m breath away

For all at once the valley appears below me

Green trees and heath balds and distance

Sharply real, framed by racing grey mist

That swirls the view away

Only to unveil blue sky and white clouds above

Only to veil it all again,

My pulse quickens, my arms outstretch,

I shiver, I sob, I cry out to the heavens

In joy and awe and fear

And the world outside is revealed again--

Ridge and valley leaping into being

And I am not protected,

I am open to glory too much to hold,

I look downwind into the valley

And watch clear cold air give birth

To slate-grey wisps and billows of cloud

That race up at me, over and through me, and beyond,

For a brief moment even the silver-white

Circle of the sun appears,

I am blessed with spectacle, with a grand command performance

That dwarfs me in its majesty,

The world shrinks into a small island lost in cloud

Then expands in a wrenching moment of inspiration, of illumination,

I shiver from the cold and the glory

From a transcendence that dwarfs my frail body

From a transcendence that pulls me out into greatness.

by Henry H. Walker

August 2, ‘92

For Clarence