Having a birthday makes me stop and think a little. How old do I really feel? 36. How many years can I remember with some detail? 39. When was the best year of my life? 40 and 43. What do I regret? Little. What is yet to come? A lifetime. And so on.
Because I am so happy, I find myself occasionally wishing that I could have started on this path a lot sooner so that more of my life could be as good as it is now. However, I don't really feel that way. I had to go there to get here. Robert Frost says it better than I can say it with his extended metaphor in his poem Happiness Makes Up in Height What it Lacks for in Length.
Oh, stormy stormy world,
The days you were not swirled
Around with mist and cloud,
Or wrapped as in a shroud,
And the sun’s brilliant ball
Was not in part or all
Obscured from mortal view –
Were days so very few
I can but wonder whence
I get the lasting sense
Of so much warmth and light,
If my mistrust is right
It may be altogether
From one day’s perfect weather,
When starting clear at dawn,
The day swept clearly on
To finish clear at eve.
I verily believe
My fair impression may
Be all from that one day
No shadow crossed but ours
As through its blazing flowers
We went from house to wood
For change of solitude.
Paul has given me 'one day's perfect weather' and the height of my happiness is beyond measure.
Happy Birthday to me.
2 comments:
Kathleen, you must have been a wonderful English Teacher. I bet your past-pupils still remember your lessons. I had a teacher like that.His name is Mr. Gilmour and he was also brilliant!
Thank you Jenny. Some of them remember me.
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