those who watch rainbows
gather a reputation
as rainbow chasers
Adapted from Moments of Dawn Riders by Carl Sandburg in “The People, Yes: Sky Talk” (Harcourt, Brace & Company, 1936).
Those who straddle foaming sea-horses and ride into the sunrise
do so with no instrument board, no timetables
Those who watch one rainbow after another dissolve in seven prisms
they seem to gather reputations for being rainbow chasers —
they also choose bright mornings of clear weather and fading daystars
to study the organization of the sprockets of the bursting dawn …
Life is filled with talk of the path not taken and the road less traveled and the sounds of different drummers and the grass being greener over there on the other side of the fence.
Sometimes you get to look down those other paths, hear the different drums, look over that fence.
The past weekend, the Wife and I watched the movie, “The Holdovers.“
Charming film, though a bit disconcerting when the era of your childhood is the subject of what is called a “Period Piece”, where the look and feel of a by gone era is ‘historically accurate’ as recreated on screen.
Not wanting to become a movie review, the focus of the story is a teacher who is teaching at same small private school that he attended.
The teacher left the school for college and came back and never left.
As far as we know he moved into his ‘rooms’ and stayed there the rest of his life.
In those rooms he accumulated books, school papers to be graded and dust.
Here is my point.
The life of that teacher as portrayed in the movie, was a life I could easily imagine to have been mine and consider, more or less, one my paths not taken.
As the credits rolled over the screen at the end of the movie, I said to my wife, “That could have been my life.“
My Wife said, “Yes, it could have.“
I said, and full transparency here – spoiler alert, “I would have been fired.“
My Wife said, “Yes, you would have.”
I was thinking about that this morning as I drove to work.
I thought of a singular, solitary life, surrounded by books and a school schedule and dust.
And I thought of my life and jobs and kids and meetings and car problems and taxes and bills and grand kids and kids.
And I thought of the path not taken.
And I looked at the path I was on.
I was driving over the bridge to the island and I thought of George Bailey.
And I said, “Thank you, God.“
I would write more but I have to go chase some rainbows and study the sprockets of the bursting dawn.
No Haiku For You 