yay trail maintenance crew!

 the underlying, revealed

as Fall turns to Winter,

the forest loses the clothes of its leaves,

and much that was hidden by the exuberance

of the growing, thriving foliage

is unveiled, pretense drops away,

the trunks of the trees show themselves,

all perpendicular as they reach to the sky,

trails no longer are so much tunnels in the woods

as vantage points to see what hid away not very long ago,

trails love to follow the streams,

and now I can savor better the magic of water

and what it creates as it submits to gravity’s call,

not long ago, a trail maintenance crew 

worked their transformations upon the trails I wander:

cutting away trees that fell over the trail and got in the way,

beating back brambles and cloying vegetation,

reminding the trails to be revelatory of the woods

and not cousin to the trackless,

the crew that worked the trails up valley from us

had competence, vision, and even artistic flair

in their touch upon the woods,

Fall works to reveal,

and the trails can be its partner.

by Henry H. Walker

December  18, ‘22

the long night settles on us

 Winter Solstice ‘22

days shorten,

nights lengthen, 

cold air slips over us from the north

as if some dam is no longer there,

bears and people desert the high mountains,

though people can still come nearby

to frolic where the spirit of Christmas

flares in bright colored lights,

in entertainment,

in an excess of calories,

and in convivial people with whom to huddle,

and thus to deny the dying of the light,

in the forest above our place

leaves have left the trees

like Floridians heading home,

the world is starker now

with no flowers, save the remnants of a hazel,

called “witch” for its oppositional take on when to do its thing,

grays and browns dominate,

stark lines of trunk and branch

replace the billowing clouds of soft waving leaf

that seeks to let no light be unappreciated and unused,

I share a chant with my students to mark this time:

“Winter Solstice, Winter Solstice,

light is little, dark is mostest,”

the Sun comes up over the great mountain above us,

a bright beacon above the pointing creek,

I feel eldered to appreciate absence,

for without the lack how can we feel the gift of the presence,

today feels of melancholy, the dark doubt that has its truth,

the year is at its lowest ebb,

why should I deny the dark within me, and without me?

as day slips into night,

turkeys fly into the tops of trees to roost,

I watch the alpha flutter from one branch to the next:

the black silhouette of his body against the gray sky,

he flares his tail a bit as if to remember both past and future,

he takes his time to settle, so do I. . .

the long night settles on us both.

by Henry H. Walker

December  21, ‘22

Winter Dance Concert 22

 An Evening of Dance

our hearts appreciate eloquence

in driving music, in expressive art,

in how to use the movement of the body on stage

to create meaning,

to express self,

to say what can’t be said,

to joy in creation,

after a wondrous dance I rarely find words

to tell the story of what I experienced,

if it could be said in words,

what need is there for the physical?

instead dance is like the world

which expresses itself beautifully

in mountain and sea,

in flower and animal,

in seasons and in the change of seasons,

in the reality of our days,

tonight the dancers wrote in choreography and its movements

what spoke to their souls of stasis and metamorphosis,

the dancers, fully in the throes of high school

and in the increasingly full emergence of who they are, truly,

these dancers spoke of starting to dance before they knew why,

of having a champion who helped them find this way,

of the many hours learning the craft of how to move

with precision, clarity, grace,

of their need to move for their own well-being,

and we, who watch and experience 

what is said with body and movement,

need the dance for our own well-being,

I wish our society realized fully

the value we get from dance, from all the arts,

tonight, thank you, dancers,

for the effort and risk to reveal

what can be said and taught with dance,

for how well you were you on stage.

by Henry H. Walker     December 7, ‘22

change can be written in stone

 written in stone?

“it is not written in stone”

we say when we argue that change can be good,

or at least ok,

I watch a creek that flows by our cabin in the Smokies,

the channel changes every season,

change? it is written in stone,

high water rearranges the rocks, the logs,

where the water can be deep enough for a plunge,

here change is written in stone,

and I have to deal with it,

I want to embrace both the constant and the new,

such understanding comes hard.

by Henry H. Walker

November 26, ‘22

seeking something of answer

 a good conversation

at times I feel a drive to write,

yet at other times, 

instead I use words to connect with another,

to build wholenesses, not on the page,

but in that nebulous give-and-take

which is conversation at its best,

when one reaches from inside to outside to share,

and lets the inside be changed,

so two are as one for awhile,

each of us working to craft feeling and idea

as if into a net which can softly lightly hold

something of answer

to questions that challenge us.

by Henry H. Walker

November 24, ‘22