The world turned June

Dear Symposians, it was so good to have family here this spring--Lena in early March, and Mom, Dick, Greg and Lola here in late May. Prague is famous for its 'spring', unfortunately hampered by an historical misnomer, as 1968 is infamous for its Prague 'fall' (the August 20th invasion of Warsaw Pact watchdogs). History aside, it is lovely here as I write and make the following request:

Please take a look at this draft for my annual contribution to our leave-taking party of colleagues, numbering ten this year. I have a couple imperatives in mind as I draft: a) keep an animal in bay, for better or worse--this time, the hedgehog that may represent Czech Republic better than a nonsensical lion national emblem, or ISP better than its mascot falcon, hijacked from the 'Sokol' movement of Masaryk's First Republic; and b) honor the leave-taking event without pronouncing by 'eulogy' or 'roast' any particulars of a person, as biographical instances--times ten individuals--is a nightmarish matrix.

We all know campsites--from boundary waters to Camp Grow--and we all have ways of weighing in. Add to that any sense of 'ethics', as my working title is 'Hedgehog Ethics':

to Kathleen, Peter, Dianne, Stephen, Anke, Melissa, Shelley, Loic, John, Caroline

An adage of the ages:

leave a campsite cleaner than it was

then, in incremental stages,

campsites cleanse ourselves.

Here, the hedgehogs hold the night—

what presence they assume is barely known

to those who grope in daylight;

they leave well enough alone

and then tidy up the floor.

We wake to worlds unseemly fresh and

so… we sleepwalk out the door

and trample hedgehog land.

But then again, they wait to

trample what we’ve paved—the earth

is rounded with such residue,

with throes of death and birth

travail, dreaming in between.

A curious thing a hedgehog does to wile

away its time: a ‘self-anoint’ routine

to smell like other selves awhile,

to sleep that off and venture

out again. Camouflage, the experts say,

and let them think they’re sure.

Would you anoint yourself today?

We’ve seen good friends and stewards

come and go. To name them now would

satisfy some chronicle, but few words

satisfy their goal for good:

they leave the campsite clean. Scouts

who tread itinerant tracks will know (if not

acknowledge) what it means to grout

the natural foundations, what

they found and what they, too,

will leave again anew. We keep the campsite

clean. We learn from hedgehogs who

glean in kind from us—we might

talk mutual shop some day. Now,

we batten down the hatches, steady selves

for storms unseen, with forecasts how

the fort is stronger than it was.