photovoltaic panels!

a lighter tread upon the earth

we now have 12 new photovoltaic panels

just above our roof,

they join the 8 we have had for awhile,

plus the 3 thermal panels for hot water,

those 8 have morphed sunlight into electricity,

and thus helped us power our lights, our electronics, our Volt,

they have slowed the meter

as we have needed fewer kilowatts from the grid,

and, at times, our meter has run backwards

as we contribute and give back to that same grid,

now we’re more than doubling our capacity

so that our tread upon the earth lightens,

today I turned the system on,

though clouds held back the sun,

soon the great solar furnace will first power

the fullness of our 20 panels,

and we will go more gently into that good day

and leave more room for others to also get by.

by Henry H. Walker

March 13, ’15

winter's hold, slips

crocus and loss

two weeks ago, winter,

though late to come,

came with a vengeance

and the world out the window was white,

as if it forgot color and spring,

inside our power still worked so we could nest

with flowing warmth and water and electronics,

books and food and naps pulled at me,

and with my three-week-old tomato plants

I dreamed of the return of color and change to the world,

great air masses shifted

and southerly winds melted the snow

and awoke spring peepers, the first trout lilies,

the exuberant audaciousness of bright crocus,

the dependable solidity of lusciously-yellow daffodil,

I tilled the garden and imagined our native pumpkin thriving,

the sugar snap peas exuberant,

the buttercrunch lettuce in a perfect salad,

the tomatoes beating July to the table,

part of me reaches forward to what the future can bring,

another part of me reaches back to who we’ve lost,

part of my gift is to remember, and it’s also a curse,

for those I’ve lost, close to me, haunt my dreams

and keep interrupting the sureness of my day and my sleep,

the crocus demands I be in its moment,

my memory demands I be in all the moments before.

by Henry H. Walker

March 18, ’15

a science day in the middle school

opening doors with science

an infant must be as a scientist,

for how to walk, and how to talk,

require trial and error, trial and error and error,

before success,

the constant venturing forth of effort in search of result,

the constant check of reality upon desire,

there’s joy in discovery for the infant,

so much new, and bright, and wondrous,

that joy in discovery,

that appreciation of a flower, a bug, a smile from a parent,

can continue to joy a preschooler, and an elementary schooler,

I feel we in middle school have a tradition to maintain,

to keep alive the learner who acts 

to understand and appreciate the world as a scientist,

to appreciate that the answers to the puzzles of existence,

that math and science reveal with focused effort,

are accessible and right,

at our Science Day this March,

our keynoter, Glenn Murphy, carried us all

on a safari of discovery about predators,

17 workshops followed him as presenters 

shared their love of their work,

with microscopes and DNA,

baboons and the brain,

visual illusions and sound’s secrets,
Newton on the basketball court,

Barbee bungee-jumping after equations predict the physics,

experiments, expositions, and constructions

of planes, LED lights, marble chutes,

an advisee challenge—

all building up to a science fair from about half the school,

as students ventured hypotheses and procedures

to answer specific questions,

and those who had the creativity and discipline 

to persevere on all counts

were awarded science kits to go further on their own,

all in all, a day to celebrate how open the doors can be

that lead from not knowing

to the universe releasing a bit of its secrets,

to be as a scientist can have the joy of discovery

if the right effort opens the door,

and then we know.

by Henry H. Walker

March 7, ’15

multitudes and oneness

my psyche embodied

the cabin-on-the-creek embodies my psyche:

my subconscious metaphors nightmares at me from there,

two nights ago bears, just outside, fought to come in and take over,

the dark sides of my self powerful and pushing the doors

so that my control will be lost,

while I, in the cabin itself, work hard to run the homely house,

where that which is my conscious self 

manages the primal outside with right angles and right thought,

down by the creek I have made a sitting place,

where I can feel constant and centered

as the water flows, always different, and always the same,

leaves spiral down into the creek as my mother slips away,

seeds spiral down in the creek to remind me to hope,

stars above whisper of constancy,

kids playing before me shout of the joy

that a moment deserves to feel,

I meditate there and seek to start my day calmed and eldered,

in therapy I sought a grounding place for my psyche,

and it was the pooled creek, hard by the cabin, that I found spoke to me,

all who we are has the tenuous about it,

as we struggle to know all the parts that can make us whole,

we can know multitudes and oneness inherent in who we are.

by Henry H. Walker

February 26, ’15

to create meaning

Words After the Glimmering

the gestalt of who we are

groks glimmers of the truths just beyond us,

to get to such ideas we scaffold words

who can help create the meaning our soul knows is there,

the elephant is there, and though we’re blind,

we seek to know it,

many’s the time I’ve heard another say

“those words say what I feel,”

a resonance of the net of words

to the inchoate thought and feeling

just beyond our current consciousness,

we know there is greatness behind us and before us,

and we struggle to use our words to connect and build meaning.

by Henry H. Walker

February 22, ’15

the smiles, the realness

CFS at 50

we celebrate 50 years of Carolina Friends School

and I’ve been here near 90% of that time,

when I first visited C.F.S.

I was surprised that here existed a school

that spoke to my intuitive hope for education:

that teachers could have the power

to shape experience to what students need,

and, really, to what students want, 

for basic to all of us is a drive, a need,

to release the best of ourselves,

to have others realize there is a best readily within us,

I wandered the Lower School

and I was touched by the smiles, the realness,

the sense that all together sought what works

so that learners could learn, and exult in the becoming,

it was so,

and it is so,

at the heart the process must be continually reborn

as teacher and student, parent and administrator, live a shared vision,

while each of us within the community also is unique within the journey.

by Henry H. Walker

February 21, ’15

time to start tomato plants!

time future calls

time future can be inherent in time present:

snow, sleet, and freezing rain

sheen all surfaces with a shallow stasis

while blooming crocus hold on to hope, 

daffodil leaves pierce the ice and calmly anticipate spring,

though their few buds up look forlorn,

as if hope came too soon to them,

a week and a half ago I planted tomato seeds in 12 pots:

half large red, the other cherry yellow and red,

and I convinced the seeds with heat and moisture to reach up,

they use warmth in the house and sun through the windows

to get a head start on summer,

if we want a homegrown tomato before the 4th of July

it’s time to pull the future into the present, and prepare,

the asparagus bed weeded and mulched,

the ubiquitous gill-over-the-ground fought back under the blueberries,

part of who I am figures that it’s rarely too early

to do today what will be due to be done tomorrow,

I still use the Postal Service for birthday card and present,

and I rarely mind the lag time of days,

e mailing and texting can be near instantaneous,

yet lethargy and procrastination will still have power,

people will still make little lists and find distractions

that will have time present late to deal with time past and future.

by Henry H. Walker

February 17, ’15