Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and he bends you with his might
that his arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as he loves the arrow that flies
so he loves also the bow that is stable.
I am posting this story, in honor of my son, the author. He didn’t grow up to be an all-star basketball play, as stated in his biography, but he still enjoys playing the the sport, for recreation. The original book that this appeared in was illustrated, by him, when he was 10 years old. It was kept in a file cabinet that was unluckily drenched by a leaking humidifier, thus explaining the rusty appearance of the pages. I reproduced the drawings with photography, and thought it of value to retype the script.
One Last Chance
Written and Illustrated by Francisco Bravo
Transitions of time, at 7:05 a.m.
Red breasted robins hobbled on the grass, and bobbed for worms,
on the muddy bare spots on the ground.
Smaller black and white birds leapt from branch to branch.
The invisible dove cooed, as day broke,
And the train rumbled on its tracks.
The viburnum was dying to bloom.
The snow was blue.
I heard the muffled sound of sirens, blaring in the distance,
And saw my first red cardinal, taking cover, under an olive branch.
Spring was here!*
*Crops for the garden may be planned.
Watch for the waning, and waxing of the moon.
By Tiffany Creek
The featured image above depicts an old barn, or large shed, difficult to access from the road, because it is on a sharp curve. The worn weathered siding stood out on this foggy day in February, 2019.Old Red Barn. New England in March 2019.A triangle shape, in the tree. Geometric shapes intermingle with the snow covered hemlock. March snow. Or maybe it was February.A tangled mess of prickly brambles, on the roadside. These overgrowths are usually a dark purple color, and make me think of the arteries inside the body. They are ominous, and not to be approached with your hands, or any other part of your body.
Autumn leaves dappled in warm afternoon sunlight. Fall, 2018.
March came in like a Lion, but the days keep getting longer, and spring it will bring.
The Romans called it Martius, after the War-god, Mars, and for them it was the first month of the year, when the vigorous battle of life began again.
But the Saxons called it Lenet-Monat, or Length-Month, because now the days were lengthening after winter. This long-forgotten name for the month is not dead; it lives in the word Lent, which falls in March. So this first month of spring includes the spiritual Christian name in the martial pagan one, like the meeting of the Lamb, with the Lion.
“The New Book of Days” by Eleanor Farjeon
As wave is driven by wave
and each pursued pursues the wave ahead
So time flies on and follows, always, forever, and new.
What was before
is left behind;
What never was is now;
and every passing moment is renewed.
There are four lucky days in February, and today, the 26th, isn’t one of them. They are, the 10th, the 19th, the 27th, and the 28th.