The child is father of the man.
My son was home for nearly two weeks over the Christmas break. (He's a first-year university student, living in residence, enjoying immensely his freedom from the drudgery here at the Lunch Counter.)
That I miss him is a given. Those two weeks went by in an eye blink.
Which seems to be the way of things. While my life is speeding towards its conclusion, his is stretched out in front of him, luxuriously, with tantalizing possibilities.
Funny, isn't it? I'm on a fast track to the big stillness, and all I want to do after work is close my eyes and remember. He has years ahead of him, but can't gobble it up fast enough, making memories as he goes. Guess I was the same way. Guess we all are.
Guess I just had to write it down. And maybe remember what Wordsworth said:
My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
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