I saw this on Sweetney's blog and it charmed me so much that I wanted to try it myself.
I am from the center of a mountain bowl along the Arkansas River valley, from lush green trees and red clay dust, from dizzying heights and narrow winding roads.
I am from handmade polyester pants in contrasting colors, from Mello Yello and Hasbro Toys.
I am from the house on the corner with the crabapple tree in the front yard and the yellow roses in the back that smell like love and honey and my grandfather's hands.
I am from Columbines and Indian Paintbrush, from Fairy Slippers and Glacier Lillies. I am from towering pines and flickering aspens and gently waving willows. From boisterous afternoon thunderstorms that flash and crack and shake the windows only to be chased away by the big, bad sun.
I am from vacations spent in cabins by babbling brooks, from hot summers and freezing winters, from Murphys and Licks and Schlafs and Hendersons. I am from circus performers and fishermen and writers and artists.
I am from the Father. Son, and Holy ghost, communion wafers, and the Apostles' Creed. I'm from the Sunday choir and the seven sacraments.
I am from Huckleberry Finn and Augie Doggie, from Tom T. Hall and Roger Miller, from Laverne and Shirley, Fantasy Island, and The Love Boat.
I am from follow your bliss and find your passion and bloom where you are planted. From Ayn Rand and Albert Schweitzer. From Shakespeare and Socrates.
I am from Ireland and Sweden, Germany and England. From Corned beef and cabbage and hand-rolled pasta, and vinegar pie.
I am from rule breakers, crazies, philanthropists, and politicians.
I am from family albums, family trees, family gatherings. I am from love and pain and secrets and regret. I am from fresh baked cookies in the old wood-burning stove in my father's garage, from lions in the hedges, from late nights in my brother's room listening to George Thorogood and the Destroyers. I am from wild games of kick the can, from running until my legs burned under the bright moon through untamed fields, and from locking the doors and windows only when the prison alarms sounded.
I am from the center of a mountain bowl along the Arkansas River valley, from lush green trees and red clay dust, from dizzying heights and narrow winding roads.
I am from handmade polyester pants in contrasting colors, from Mello Yello and Hasbro Toys.
I am from the house on the corner with the crabapple tree in the front yard and the yellow roses in the back that smell like love and honey and my grandfather's hands.
I am from Columbines and Indian Paintbrush, from Fairy Slippers and Glacier Lillies. I am from towering pines and flickering aspens and gently waving willows. From boisterous afternoon thunderstorms that flash and crack and shake the windows only to be chased away by the big, bad sun.
I am from vacations spent in cabins by babbling brooks, from hot summers and freezing winters, from Murphys and Licks and Schlafs and Hendersons. I am from circus performers and fishermen and writers and artists.
I am from the Father. Son, and Holy ghost, communion wafers, and the Apostles' Creed. I'm from the Sunday choir and the seven sacraments.
I am from Huckleberry Finn and Augie Doggie, from Tom T. Hall and Roger Miller, from Laverne and Shirley, Fantasy Island, and The Love Boat.
I am from follow your bliss and find your passion and bloom where you are planted. From Ayn Rand and Albert Schweitzer. From Shakespeare and Socrates.
I am from Ireland and Sweden, Germany and England. From Corned beef and cabbage and hand-rolled pasta, and vinegar pie.
I am from rule breakers, crazies, philanthropists, and politicians.
I am from family albums, family trees, family gatherings. I am from love and pain and secrets and regret. I am from fresh baked cookies in the old wood-burning stove in my father's garage, from lions in the hedges, from late nights in my brother's room listening to George Thorogood and the Destroyers. I am from wild games of kick the can, from running until my legs burned under the bright moon through untamed fields, and from locking the doors and windows only when the prison alarms sounded.