I taught children to write cursive.
And how to drive a stick.
In fact, they learned all my baby boomer things,
Like reading (aloud and to oneself), walking,
Talking with friends (facially, in person).
They learned about winning, and all about losing, with dignity.
They learned about friendship, loyalty, honour, trust,
And perseverence.
They learned that truth, as hard as it might be, was ok.
These should not, cannot, be sidelined.

But today's child is not for these times.
They are time travellers.

Meet me at
the sun polished Crater Lake.
In such lavish light,
the fir, pine and hemlock,
are warmly baked.
Woozy trees, drunk on the beauty.
Inebriated with a
moment of the stolen still.
These stoic bark creatures flaunt
pristine emerald and jade frill.
The long desired water
possess's the purest hue.
The deep cobalt blue,
lazily yet hypnotically,
extends an invitation to you.
The lake's shimmered secrets
hold the most ancient truths.
The charcoal mountainous flank
boast's of thousands of years old.
Stirs a riveting lazy pleasure
in my soul's craters.