The Rainbow

In the winter, when she rose with the sunrise, and out of the

back windows saw the east flaming yellow and orange above the

green, glowing grass, while the great pear tree in between stood

dark and magnificent as an idol, and under the dark pear tree,

the little sheet of water spread smooth in burnished, yellow

light, she said, "It is here". And when, at evening, the sunset

came in a red glare through the big opening in the clouds, she

said again, "It is beyond".

Dawn and sunset were the feet of the rainbow that spanned the

day, and she saw the hope, the promise. Why should she travel

any further?

Yet she always asked the question. As the sun went down in

his fiery winter haste, she faced the blazing close of the

affair, in which she had not played her fullest part, and she

made her demand still: "What are you doing, making this big

shining commotion? What is it that you keep so busy about, that

you will not let us alone?"

She did not turn to her husband, for him to lead her. He was

apart from her, with her, according to her different conceptions

of him. The child she might hold up, she might toss the child

forward into the furnace, the child might walk there, amid the

burning coals and the incandescent roar of heat, as the three

witnesses walked with the angel in the fire.

Soon, she felt sure of her husband. She knew his dark face

and the extent of its passion. She knew his slim, vigorous body,

she said it was hers. Then there was no denying her. She was a

rich woman enjoying her riches.

And soon again she was with child. Which made her satisfied

and took away her discontent. She forgot that she had watched

the sun climb up and pass his way, a magnificent traveller

surging forward. She forgot that the moon had looked through a

window of the high, dark night, and nodded like a magic

recognition, signalled to her to follow. Sun and moon travelled

on, and left her, passed her by, a rich woman enjoying her

riches. She should go also. But she could not go, when they

called, because she must stay at home now. With satisfaction she

relinquished the adventure to the unknown. She was bearing her

children.

There was another child coming, and Anna lapsed into vague

content. If she were not the wayfarer to the unknown, if she

were arrived now, settled in her builded house, a rich woman,

still her doors opened under the arch of the rainbow, her

threshold reflected the passing of the sun and moon, the great

travellers, her house was full of the echo of journeying.

She was a door and a threshold, she herself. Through her

another soul was coming, to stand upon her as upon the

threshold, looking out, shading its eyes for the direction to

take.