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I am from wood smoke billowing out of the chimney,
from the sweet smell of raspberries
to cigarette smoke drifting out from behind closed doors.
I am from the strong, hearty smell of pizza
baking in the oven.

I am from basking in the heat of a summer day,
from playing baseball on the lawn,
from swimming in a cold mountain lake.

I am from picking sweet peas from the garden,
harvesting apples from the trees,
stacking split wood until it towered above me,
shouting our defiance
to the winter.

I am from sitting inside as a blizzard
pounds itself against my windows.
I am from heading out into the storm
to hunt for a perfect Christmas tree.
I am from walking through a landscape
covered in millions of diamonds
more precious than any stone.

I am from taking the first sweet breath
of fresh spring air,
from smashing the last, unmelted pieces of ice
with a hammer.


I am from defying
expectations,
limits,
norms.

I am from a home
so different from so many others,
so far away from anything else,
but somehow, just the same.

I am from two large trees
reaching above the lilacs,
stretching towards the sky,
towards greatness.
And though they have been struck down,
they grow still.



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