Mt. LeConte, a year later

melancholy

for decades, today would have been

when we shepherded 42 of us up Mt. LeConte,

when we lived the effort to work ourselves up

one of the faces of the mountain,

to be at the top, as a group,

ready to share meals, and camaraderie,

and sunset, and sunrise,

then to work ourselves back down the mountain

where we world celebrate friendship,

and accomplishment,

and whatever revelations the mountain allowed,

with a meal my mother provided, and still champions:

chicken salad, angel biscuits, plenty of butter,

summer transparency applesauce,

marinated carrots, grits casserole, and cakes,

I am deep down sad that what was no longer is. . .

at this very moment when melancholy starts to wrap me in her arms,

the great blue heron descends before me

with an explosion of outthrust wings

followed by alert stillness as it makes sure it’s safe,

it stands stoic and expectant,

on the hemlock log crossing the creek

a log felled by the blight of the introduced adelgid,

the heron lets me pass the test of being probably benign,

I move very little but I do move a bit

to show I’m alive and not a concern,

then it flies to the creek, drinks several times,

and starts hunting for supper,

I am sad for what I have lost,

I am joyous for what might still be possible to gain,

I follow the heron up the creek, 

though my presence is annoying enough

that it can’t settle into the hunt,

I return to the cabin and cook my share of supper,

early in the meal, 

my wife spots a bear crossing the creek toward the cabin,

I follow him, too, into the woods,

inside a sadness swells,

outside I feel the call to buck up and appreciate the moments

that still come while we still breathe.

by Henry H. Walker

August 1, ‘20

how are we doing?

a status update

every day is a status update:

how are the internal systems?

does the mind still remember names?

how to juggle priorities?

how to make sense out of assaulting stimuli?

can the body still express the will

and handle getting done what I want to do?

today we dodged the storms

that the high heat and humidity of full summer unleash,

and we were able to climb onto an upper valley ridge, 

and follow it, 

then we were able 

to drop down into a secluded valley

where rough rock welcomed us,

and allowed Baskins Creek 

to make the sweetness of a waterfall,

even more impressive, our bodies and will allowed us 

to climb, hard, back out of the valley,

as sweat drenched our clothes

and legs and lungs labored 

to prove we were still up to the effort,

back on the ridge line, 

as we slowly descended toward our car,

yellow-fringed orchis centered our world for a while,

our bodies passed this test,

our souls thrilled at the beauty

that casually unfolded before us.

by Henry H. Walker

July 31, ‘20

the unpredictable: readying for it

expecting the unexpected

part of me wants tomorrow to be just like today,

to have a routine, and let it unfold, predictably,

I don’t need to reinvent the wheel of relationship

for I already won the lottery with my wife,

I don’t need to re-invent the wheel of profession and job,

for Carolina Friends School allows me to be the self

who sees the kids, knows the kids,

and who has the freedom and responsibility

to help them find their ways forward

yet as I sit in my beloved mountains,

I do not know just what the next moment can reveal,

the flowers, the waterfalls, the mountain tops,

are predictable enough to allow me expectations,

the animals, though, do not reveal themselves on our schedules,

I can increase my odds of seeing bears by studying their patterns,

and adjusting myself to them,

I can have the telephoto on my camera already on my camera, 

and it readily available,

but the bears’ show is more random than certain,

a great blue heron taught me this lesson a few weeks ago,

heron visits to the creek had been occasional and fleeting,

as they seem to be again,

this heron visited the creek by the cabin several times

when I was alert enough to notice,

and when a dog shared her watchful alert with us,

I used my bear-stalking skills to shadow it and photograph it:

no abrupt movement or noise,

respectful distance, 

becoming just an ignorable part of her environment,

I then could know its world enough

to learn the awe and detail it deserved,

as it just went about finding some fish and crawfish,

it allowed me the photography to preserve flashes of the moments,

out West, wolves and otters, and moose, and eagles,

have allowed us to touch their world a bit,

and that intersection has profoundly moved us,

I want to ready myself for the unpredictable,

to expect the unexpected,

and to thrill when the new ices the cake of the old.

by Henry H. Walker

July 30, ‘20

a timid lethargy

caution versus boldness

I am tired of timid lethargy,

of an excess of considering

the “one hand” and the “other hand,” 

fearing a movement forward might not be the best possible way,

a tool exists: a handy video camera,

a need exists: people age and move away,

yet with a story that can start to be told 

before it easily can be lost,

but no committee seems to get around 

to organizing a project to record and share the stories,

an easy slipping into procrastinating

till a future time that might be better,

maybe somebody, some time, will take care of it,

lethargy triumphs over the riskiness of boldness,

I thank God, literally, that those visionaries

who conceived the possibility of a Friends School

between Durham and Chapel Hill,

chose vision over caution,

to leap despite what the “look” revealed,

consensus is a wonderful tool,

too often, though, it tricks us into thinking

that a lack of a unity to move forward in a particular way

is unity to not move at all,

I recorded and shared the videos, and continue to do so,

I answer the calling, I lead and I hope others follow

as the way forward calls more clearly to them, too.

by Henry H. Walker

July 29, ‘20

like a thick blanket

high summer heat

high summer settles over the land

like a thick blanket when you’re already hot,

the outside temperature is so close to the internal

the the skin despairs of throwing off its excess heat,

the air so sticky, sweat doesn’t evaporate

until a bit of wind comes up and gives us hope,

the forest so thirsty

that less and less water is released into the streams,

if enough water gets to garden and farm,

produce produces with vigor,

I seek the high ground 

where summer is less a heavy blanket

than a light shawl,

and the streams welcome my plunge into them

with a cold shock that reminds me

I am and I love the being.

by Henry H. Walker

July 29, ‘20