On Children

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.

Kahlil Gibran

A Story, for St. Patrick’s Day

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

Dedicated to my grandpa, and Ben.


I woke up early on a Saturday morning.  Right when I got out of the shower and washed my face, I went outside to shoot some hoops.  Then I just remembered it was Saint Patrick’s Day.  So I decided to search for leprechauns.
I went deep into the dark woods and saw something move.  It ended up being a leprechaun.  I found the little guy near a swamp.  He had a white shirt on with shamrocks all over it.  The pants were the same only the opposite.  His hat was solid green.  The best thing was that I still had my eyes on him.
We were good friends, but we both wanted the gold.  The whole time, when I first met the leprechaun, I thought I would find the gold.  Even through all his nasty tricks, I thought I could win it.
The little leprechaun led me to a field of fresh pumpkins.  “Do you care for a beautiful orange pumpkin?” the leprechaun exclaimed.  “The pumpkin looks good, but it would be hard to carry, and you will get away because of its weight.”  I answered.  “Very well then, I will make you have more hard, exhausting troubles,” the leprechaun answered back.
The next problem came when the leprechaun led me to some rich, red-looking raspberry bushes.  “Do you care for a bag full of raspberries?”  he shouted.  “That is extremely nice of you, but I will be too tempted to look at the tasty raspberries and you will get out of my sight.”
Next we went to a tree where his gold probably was because there was an ax there.  He was ready to chop another beautiful tree for the third time when he thought of one more trick.  I had no clue what it was about.  He started telling a sad story about a boy’s mother dying in a car accident.  When he was finished telling the story I was crying tears bigger than a Tsunami tidal wave.  When I stopped crying I didn’t see a little man in his special outfit because I didn’t keep my eyes on him.  All I saw were thin strands of nice green grass!
About the Author – Francisco likes to do things with his friends.  He was born in Willimantic, Connecticut.  He goes to Annie E. Vinton Elementary School in Mansfield, Connecticut.  He has written four books in the year 1999.  His favorite hobbies are basketball, soccer, football and pool.  His plan for the future is to be an all-star basketball player.


Dying to Bloom

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



B&W – Recent Photography

Facade of an old shed, difficult found on the curve in the road.  Worn and weathered, it stood out on this foggy day, in February, 2019.Old Red Barn, New England.  March 2019Old Red Barn. New England in March 2019._DSC0126A triangle shape, in the tree.  Geometric shapes intermingle with the snow covered hemlock.  March snow.  Or maybe it was February.DSC_6481A 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 2018, in Sunlight.Autumn leaves dappled in warm afternoon sunlight.  Fall, 2018.

March*Lenet – Monat

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