Today we celebrate our twentieth wedding anniversary. It feels like yesterday. It feels like a lifetime ago. Last night we ate at an Italian restaurant just round the corner. It was a gorgeous evening.
Our wedding day was a fragile spring day. It hailed in the morning but the afternoon glittered with low dazzling light. Pam was in Africa and sent us a telegram. I walked in on Katy – her sisters sewing flowers to her dress. I wanted the day over and the two of us driving away. Our car decorated inside and out with balloons, beer cans and confetti.
2 comments:
I know what you mean about it seeming like yesterday, your wedding. I
remember that Simon was visiting me in Zimbabwe and on your wedding day
we were on the most beautiful old steam train with our own Agatha
Christie type cabin with a copper wash basin and mahogany panels, it was
beautiful but we also wished we could have been with you; so in a way we
were. Sometimes life seems like a dream and our young selves are curled
up inside, ready wake up and stretch, full of all the hope we had but
with added understanding and kindness that grows with time.
Anyway here is a poem which seems to fit:
Again the season of spring has come
by Rumi
Again, the violet bows to the lily.
Again, the rose is tearing off her gown!
The green ones have come up from the other world,
tipsy like the breeze up to come new foolishness.
Again, near the top of the mountain
the anemone's sweet features appear.
The hyacinth speaks formally to the jasmine,
"Peace be with you." "And peace to you, lad!
Come walk with me in this meadow."
The bud is shy, but the wind removes
her veil suddenly, "My friend!"
The Friend is here like the water in the stream,
like a lotus on the water.
The narcissus winks at the wisteria,
"Whenever you say."
And the clove to the willow, "You are the one
I hope for." The willow replies, "Consider
these chambers of mine yours. Welcome!"
The apple, "Orange, why the frown?"
"So that those who mean harm
will not see my beauty."
The ringdove comes asking, "Where,
where is the Friend?"
With one note the nightingale
indicates the rose.
Again, the season of Spring has come
and a spring-source rises under everything,
a moon sliding from the shadows.
Many things must be left unsaid, because it's late,
but whatever conversation we haven't had
tonight, we'll have tomorrow.
beautiful poem, Pam.
And remember we spent our honeymoon on the isle of Skye, Half of Six.
D
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