It's calm...

... and quiet...

 

 

 

...and there are no towels on the floor...

 

...or dog hair floating through the air...

 

...the level of the milk gallon is not going down alarmingly...

 

...the Christmas cookies are all gone...

 

...the tree is down...

 

...and did I mention, it's calm...

 

and quiet?

 

And Mr. Jenny and I are left alone in our lives while our children and Grandchildren go back to theirs.

 

We are left alone with our memories and melting snow and an odd sock found now and again.

 

Gibran wisely writes:

 

“Your children are not your children.
They are 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 thir 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 make 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 also loves the bow that is stable.”  

 

Gibran?

 

Yeah.   He was a rock, man. 

 

A total rock.   I wonder if Mrs. Gibran felt this same way.

 

Or if she just pretended that...

 

...she was a stable bow?

 

 

or that she didn't want to chase after the arrows crying and saying, 'Come back!   Come back!"

 

We are left here alone in the silence...

 

and all I can really dare to hope is that somehow...

 

...someway..

...through some miracle...

 

...someone forgot one Christmas cookie in the freezer.

 

 

That might give me a little comfort right now.

 

Or not.

 

Sigh.

...