Encounter
When I met Henry's spirit at old Walden Pond
I know I've been gone for a stretch, but it's plain
It's sitting back there, looking better than new,"
"It's not the original cabin," I said,
"Accessible?" Henry then said with a scowl.
And those huts," Henry said, glancing back at the cars,
I tried to explain, but my voice wouldn't work --
He seemed not to notice my utter dismay,
They were walking in tandem along the pond's path
The paths were marked off with a fencing of sorts
He was jostled and bounced as he sauntered along
"What is this?" he cried, staring hard at the stones
"Read the sign," I said softly. "You'll see it's no joke."
"All these people?" he said, looking swiftly around,
Henry left shortly after, refusing to stay.
For they're there for the same exact reason as I --
And I'm sure that the reason for closing the pond
February 27, 1999
on a sunny day late in September,
he stood for a moment in silence, then said,
"This isn't the place I remember.
that there's been certain moral attrition,
for I swear that I left my small cabin right here
and they've moved it without my permission!
he said with a wink and a grin.
"I had no idea that I'd built it so well.
Why it's probably older than sin!"
glancing back at the full parking lot,
"It's a replica, based on your book, don't you know --
placed in an accessible spot."
"But accessible wasn't the plan!
I went for the purpose of reading Nature,
and found useful perspective on Man."
"the ones made of metal and glass.
I'm wondering just who would live in those things.
Must be some sort of grandiose ass."
from the shock of encounter, I guess --
so I gestured in sign in attempt to make clear,
but it didn't translate, I confess.
but started downhill to the shore.
And I wasn't surprised when he sucked in his breath
at the sight of the tourists galore.
and sunning themselves on the beach.
While autumn leaves fell in bright burnished piles,
their radios blared with a screech.
and I saw Henry's shoulders contract.
"This is disgraceful," he said with a snarl.
Then someone bumped into his back.
but at last he came up to the place
where his cabin had stood, on a low sloping ridge
and I saw the alarm on his face.
which were piled in a cairn by a tree.
"It looks like some children have played a cruel trick --
mounding rocks where my bean field should be."
And I think that he wiped back a tear
as he quietly read the small plaque by the cairn
which explained the memorial here.
"have come to pay tribute to me?"
"To the ideas you gave to the world," I replied,
"through your writings so generously."
But that day changed my outlook for good.
I no longer resent the tourists who come
and walk in the pond's neighborhood.
to pay homage to one man's clear sight.
Though I've left one thing out of my small ghostly tale --
it's that Walden Pond closes at night.
is to give Henry's spirit a chance
to once again ferry his boat on the lake,
where his flute plays the moon's midnight dance.
Copyright © Amy Belding Brown