The Child is Father of the Man

My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky;
So was it when my life began;
So it is now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is the father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
--William Wordsworth

I cannot read this poem without picturing the following: Rossyln Academy's sixth grade class, marching up and down a classroom between desks in military style, shouting: My heart leaps UP when I beHOLD a rainbow in the SKY! So WAS it WHEN my life begGAN! So it is NOW I am a MAN! Though I am at a bit of a loss to remember why we were marching thus, I have a suspicion it had something to do with meter.

Merry's heart leaps up when she beholds a earthworm in the garden, wiggling bravely through a clump of clay. My heart leaps up to think of all the forsythia branches I cut and stuck in the ground growing little roots all on their own in tonight's rain. The garden is full of small miracles.

Five more roses today. More terracing. My strawberry bed is at last ready to receive the little ruffly seedlings, and I purchased several packets of zinnia seeds at the grocery store. Elspeth got clocked with a tire swing; Merry dressed in full "Laura-Pioneer" regalia and strode barefoot through the freshly mowed grass. I glimpsed, curled up and content under our hedge, a coiled snake gazing contemplatively at our overgrown yard. He was not poisonous but all the same I am glad the grass was mowed today. A sweet fellow we know walked his mower all the way through a couple neighborhoods, up our hill, and mowed our upper lawn. Martin can't get the riding mower up the hill without chains on the tires. We had supper under the huge maple, drank a beer and ate peanut-butter and jam sandwiches while Elspeth wandered around giving us hugs and adventuring on her own.

Tonight I sat at the window breastfeeding Elspeth before bed and watching the activity through our window. The sunlight dappled the lawn as Martin pounded stakes around our new trees. Merry slung the frisbee toward the forsythia bushes. All was lovely. These deeply happy times--they are like rainbows. Your heart leaps up to meet the brilliance before you; you find it and partake; and always the joy trembles with the temporal, with the deep sadness of passing. There is no explaining these themes that weave through my life, the astoundingly happy, the shadows of grief. The realization that much we love with all of ourselves is as brief as dew, as the color that fills the sky and begs adoration.

At the same time I feel roots, dark and unknown, roots that always grow, that bind me to something deeply real and everlasting. I cannot see my roots, but they drink from hidden sources of water and give me life even when I forget they are there below me, providing always my very sense of being. This is grace, and God's love, and all the endlessness that exists.

And for now I crave another temporal but giddy pleasure: a bowl of chocolate cereal, a cup of chamomile tea, and another episode of James Harriot. I feel the exhaustion creeping up through my limbs and that is good, too.

Peace to you wherever you are tonight.

Columbine, Photo by Tonya Martin