::watching the leaves transition::
::piecing a Christmas present quilt::
::smiling at his Halloween creations::
::shivering through the first frost::
::freshening Elizabeth's bedroom walls::
I wanted to ferret out one of my favorite stanzas about deep, abiding love in honor of our august milestone. But all these children are so loud! I can't think straight. Perhaps sadly, perhaps appropriately, the only stanza I can conjure with any lucidity in this foggy-minded kinder-chaos is this, from Eliot's Burnt Norton.
Words strain,Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,There you go...eight years in a nutshell.
Under the tension, slip, slide, perish,
Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place,
Will not stay still. Shrieking voices
Scolding, mocking, or merely chattering,
Always assail them.
As I think about it, further down the stanza we do get this, which might work better initially, but ultimately ends up interrupted again by children.
Love is itself unmoving,
Only the cause and end of movement,
Timeless, and undesiring
Except in the aspect of time
Caught in the form of limitation
Between un-being and being.
Sudden in a shaft of sunlight
Even while the dust moves
There rises the hidden laughter
Of children in the foliage
Quick now, here, now, always -
Ridiculous the waste sad time
Stretching before and after.