Hmm, thought Blurtso, would you look at that… an abandoned tavern. A place where firelight once flickered on the walls and ceiling, where animals and people stopped for refreshment, exchanged words and glances, then continued on their way.
It’s raining on the roof, thought Pablo. The last snow is melting and the earth is beginning to open. Soon the breeze will be warm and the smells will be sweet. It was a long winter, but the cabin was cozy with Bonny and Ditto and a cellar of food. And the crackling fire. What a pleasant place to be, on the edge of spring in the rain, in the warmth of our cabin.
I can hear the last train… the night animals will be out. Tomorrow I’ll see their tracks in the snow. It must be exciting, moving quietly, feeling the pulse in your temples, seeing the hills in the grey light, and hearing the slender sound of the creek…
Maybe I should go for a walk.
The ice is melting… it will soon be spring.
Pablo? What are you doing? Please come back to bed…
Kahlil Gibran, said Pablo, in the section, “On Children”, writes:
“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.”
That’s very profound, said Blurtso. Yes, it is, said Pablo.
I wonder, said Blurtso, if Gibran was a donkey in a former life?