I am from travel trailers and Cadillacs, from Pepsi and grass-fed beef.
I am from rooms filled with smoke, scotch and melancholy, from woods filled with lichen and hope.
I am from Ponderosa parks, the Aurora Borealis.
I am from bawdy jokes and black hair, from McKay, and Beller and Edward.
I am from the independent and the proud, the industrious and the tender.
From places where only trout flies work, where moose will chase you down.
I am from the Mormon Trail. I am from the scattered survivors of St. Patrick’s crusade against the Snakes.
From the loins of a cobbler, from a woman who matured in the shadow of the Old Man of Wick, her diary full of fond words for its crumbling buttresses.
I am from Eagle Brand hooks, musty creels and forgotten fiddles, each, in their own way, warm reminders that life is complex, unpredictable and always better than I expect.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
This poem sprang from a wonderful writing exercise that you can and, dare we say, should try yourself. Jump on over to Fred First’s website and get the details—you won’t regret it!