the grandkids sat in the van.
their fingers moved quickly
over some electronic device.
their eyes were constantly glued to a screen.
their grandpa noticed these things.
it had been like this for days.
the kids never saw the badlands.
they didn't want to sample buffalo meat
they only wanted to eat at McDonald's.
they chose not to meet the Lakota...
the Navajo, or the Pueblo.
they were bored by the museums.
gameboys and cell phones were more important.
sunrises and sunsets were ignored.
but old grandpa watched nature in its glory.
he felt like smacking those kids...
yes, smacking them into reality.
he wondered, "where had their minds gone?"
his wife told him to leave them alone.
grandpa was too demanding.
he was called an old curmudgeon.
he was told to "get with it".
as he stood silent, taking in the majesty of the Grand Canyon,
it all came back to him...
the simple things:
like finches on a thistle sock on early mornings,
or the sounds of a babbling brook,
or the first fish he had caught as a boy,
he cherished these simple things.
so now he felt compassion for the grandkids.
he felt sorry for them.
he tried to make them happy, but he failed.
he figured he'd just let them be as they were.
he gained a new acceptance.
it was simple for him.