12 september 2015

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, not 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 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, On Children

Today was the first day yet to really feel like fall to me; make me shiver a little, sitting outside on the back porch listening to the girls settle themselves to sleep. I hope maybe next year or maybe the one after that we might start an end of summer tradition of a trip up north. To the mountains of North Carolina, to Maine?

It's funny how much I let myself get nerve-wracked and delighted by the prospect of something that may be difficult, but worth it. We have a busy upcoming month or so, but filled with so much joy I can already taste it.