When you say Beer, say when?

At the most self-aggrandizing, self-fulfilling, and prophetic moments, I am but a mirror to the archeologist and anthropologist that lives within. Some mornings I wake up, full of potential, waiting for some cosmic action or reaction. My son and daughter greet me or me them. They are my genesis, my blood, my genes. They make the mistakes that make them human. My daughter is a loving 8 year old that wants to do everything in one day. My son is a superior 15 year old that has done it all; but wants to not be grounded.

Yet some mornings instead of seeing them, I get the sense of leaves in the air. I