Editor’s column by Mariëtte Burger A blink of an eye... and another year has flown by

Okay, not quite yet. But, with November rounding the corner I'm sure the masses of Christmas decorations that usually beautify the shops at this time will soon follow.

Every year, as the calendar turns to November, I’m reminded of one very scary thought - I'm about to add another year to the tally.

Mostly, I’m quite content with what aging has brought about.

I like watching my kids grow - being a loving observer in their progression through paths that I’ve already walked.

A very popular philosophical book, “The Prophet,” by Kahlil Gibran, notes the conflicts many parents face as their children grow: “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... 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... you may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you... you are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.”

Profound, right?

But at its core, it is probably pretty close to what God intended from the very first family onward.

Those sentiments seem heightened every year around this time. Once December dawns, thoughts turn toward a new school year and the accompanying life changes that many children and their parents face.

In our family, one Burger girlie, Miley, will be heading to Grade 2, while the other one will be heading to Grade R next year - little 'Emma dilemma' will have her first taste of school structure as she takes on the year that must prepare her for her primary school years to come.

Families across the board are all facing the effects of time as it marches forward, waiting for no one.

At the end of each year, I’ve mourned my desire at the start of the year to wish for time to fly.

And as I take note of the speed at which the year did, in fact, fly by, I try to take time to reflect on everything that had transpired this year - I'm sure the moment that Gibran refers to will be here sooner rather than later where my arrows have flown from the bow, all grown up following their own paths.