As we enter the final days of the year, at Caldera we’re reminded that even in the darkest season, small sparks of creativity matter. The work we do together helps young people imagine possibility — and helps all of us hold onto hope for the world we’re building.

On the back of our year-end letter is an excerpt of a poem by Blue Jay, a Caldera middle school learner. In it, Blue Jay writes about the journey — the effort, the movement, the struggle — and the moment of arrival, when everything along the way suddenly matters. It’s a powerful reminder that creativity doesn’t just help young people express themselves. It helps them find direction, purpose, and hope.

We invite you to consider making a gift to Caldera to light a spark of creativity in young Oregonians.

‍Your gift in the last three days of the year will be matched and DOUBLED by a generous donor, making this the perfect time to maximize your impact.

We also invite you to read the full version of Blue Jay's poem, Destination, as we move into 2026 together.

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Destination by Blue Jay, Caldera Middle School Learner, 2025

The wind through my hair.

If lifts me up out of my body

And cleanses me of the grime that has accumulated:

The crust from beneath my eyes,

The sweat from beneath my arms,

The dirt from beneath my feet,

The weight holding down my soul.

And now I can become—

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Weightless

As if I’m floating in a void.

Just me,

My thoughts,

And the world blurring around me.

A beautiful world:

A bright blue sky above my head.

Light floating down to me from the heavens.

Trees, monolithic pillars whose branches rock back and forth like cradles,

Their leaves illuminated in a green full of life and love.

Quiet homes line each side of the labyrinthine streets,

Houses painted in quaint pastels of blue and yellow.

Narrow sidewalks sandwich the cracked asphalt of the road.

Telephone wires threading above like twisting, turning turnpikes.

The perpetual yellow paint partitioning the pavement

Like a knife partitions butter.

A rhythmic grinding of gears like a great gathering of generators and gyroscopes.

A chain steadily spinning like the movement of the moon,

Its magnificent motion a matter of manpower and momentum,

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Momentum.

My momentum moves me,

Moves me along these roads.

These roads run with no regard for reason.

Reason and logic can be discarded out here.

Here is a special place, a special time.

Time is a constant but right here it does not affect me

For this is the only time,

The only time I feel truly free.

No distractions,

No responsibilities,

Beholden to no one but myself and my destination.

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What is a destination?

A destination is a place you want to be.

A destination is the purpose behind the movement,

The reason you pedal onwards through the ache and the pain,

The reason you experience the good and the bad,

Struggle through the easy and the hard.

But what if you could do that without a destination?

Live life not in pursuit of the endpoint,

Just in service of the journey?

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Impossible.

This is something that has to happen.

Because a destination is a promise,

A promise that by the time you die

You will have accomplished something.

A destination is a guarantee

That you will contribute something,

Contribute something to the world,

To your loved ones,

To yourself.

A destination is an assurance,

A deal with the devil,

That you have the fortitude to meticulously plan your journey

In the hopes of never straying too far

From the optimal path you set for yourself

And if you get lost, you have the knowledge and skill

To navigate yourself back to your path

All for the sake of reaching your final location

Because there is no “lost” without a destination.

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Stop.

Why do we compete for last place?

Acting like defeat is a means to mask hate,

Trying to save a seat for the demons and ghasts,

Haze surrounds the incomplete like a pitcher of glass.

Eh, halfway between a pacifist and a Basilisk in a castle.

It’s an asterisk, I’m asking if I’ve mastered this.

Haven’t yet, a yes would spark a laughing fit.

Gas it, but to mask it is a multifaceted casket

Basking in rancid acid, vacuous.

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Arriving is a return to reality,

A return from the navigation,

But a welcome one.

For it is the focal point,

The one thing that makes the rest of life worth living.

The single point in time that makes

The hours of pedaling seem like a brief moment,

The single point in space that makes

The miles of struggling seem like a walk down the block.

And I know that if I was offered the opportunity again,

The journey, be it 8 miles, or 20, or 100,

I would accept it in a single breath.

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Because when I look up and see the world blurring around me,

I cannot help but feel euphoric

Just for a second.

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It is the journey:

The journey that changes dream to eventuality,

The journey that changes happenstance to circumstance,

The journey that changes destination to my location.

What is your destination?